Rain Dogs
by notmanos
Summary: A glimpse of Dean and Sam's rotten childhood. While Dad's away pursuing a lead, Dean is left to look after Sam at a shitty motel in California. Things are pretty normal, until demons with a grudge against John come hunting for him, and find Dean and Sam instead.
1. Jockey Full of Bourbon

N.B.: I had this idea about Dean and Sam and their remarkably shitty childhood, so I had to write it.

 _ **1 – Jockey Full of Bourbon**_

No matter where you went, there was always a place in town where the teens gathered to drink and make out. It seemed to be some sort of nationwide unwritten law. Dean made a point of always finding out where these places were right away, if they were going to stay in town for any length of time.

To show what a sad excuse for a town Desert Bluffs was, the teen hang spot was an old gravel quarry next to a smattering of scrub land, which had some spindly trees to give the idea of privacy. It was so, so sad. It was probably the saddest excuse for a hang spot he had ever seen, and that included that one in Florida, which was downwind from a landfill. Of course, he shouldn't be so jaded at seventeen, but his lifestyle made that hard.

He found an abandoned red plastic cup with about an inch of watery beer left in it, and scooped it up, spilling it on the arm of his jacket before throwing the cup in the weeds. He needed to smell like he belonged here, and like he was as drunk as your average Joey or Jared, or whatever asshole name people gave their kids nowadays.

He wandered off to the fringes of the clearing, looking for the stragglers. They always liked the stragglers. Some asshole had lit a fire in an old metal barrel, even though it was still seventy degrees out. What was the point of that unless it was cold, or you needed to torch a demon or something? He didn't get teenagers. Never mind that he was one. He didn't feel like one.

Dean found a space to sit down on a rocky hill and observe the party, visible but still out of general view. He tried to look as hunched over, mousy, and born victim-y as possible.

There were maybe a dozen kids scattered about, with one or two extra to round up the numbers. Some were drunkenly making out, others were drunkenly trying to flirt or dance, as someone had brought a CD player and was playing some annoying current pop music. He didn't know what it was, but he fucking hated it. The last new music he listened to and liked was probably that Tom Waits album. That guy had seen some shit.

Eventually, a blonde slip of a girl with vibrant red lipstick and glittery eye shadow sat down next to him. "Haven't seen you around before," she said, giggling slightly.

"I'm new in town," he offered.

"You're cute," she said, eying him thoughtfully. In the flickering light cast from the distant barrel, he saw her in shadowy pieces. Shoulder length blonde hair, eyes as pale blue as a robin's egg, the slightest smattering of acne hidden beneath concealer, a silver earring that looked like a pair of tiny dice. She had nice legs and a very short skirt. She had perfected her drunken smile, her loose body posture, but it didn't hit her eyes. They were sharp, and saw everything. "I'm Kara."

"Tom," he lied.

"So where are you from, Tom?"

"As of late? Mesa, Arizona." Or at least that's where they were on the last job, taking out some werewolves.

"Ah. So this is probably cold for you, huh?" She accidentally on purpose leaned into him, breast pushing up against his arm. It wasn't that he didn't like it, he just had to make sure the person beneath it all was into it too.

He reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a flask. He unscrewed the top and took a swig, as she looked on with bright eyes. "Ooh, what's that?"

"Vodka, from my dad's bar. Good stuff too, expensive. He lost his shit last time I took some." He held the flask out to her, a tacit offer. She grinned, showing white teeth, and took the flask.

"Didn't stop you from stealing it, did it?"

"Oh hell no. Shit's too good."

She took a hearty swig, and he looked around to see if anyone was looking at them. There didn't seem to be. It didn't matter that they were all so close in the quarry; everybody was part of their own drama. That's why Dad said most people didn't notice the supernatural until it killed them. It was just easier not to deal with it.

He took back the flask as she coughed a little, and tapped the base of her throat. "Woo. Quite a kick on that."

"Uh huh. It's holy water," he said, putting the flask back in his pocket. Dean turned back to find the girl staring at him in wide eyed horror. "What is it with you demons preying on drunken teenagers? Seriously, get a new hobby."

Her eyes briefly flashed all black, before her pale pupils flicked back into view. The girl staggered to her feet, and Dean could hear as well as see smoke hissing out of her mouth as the holy water went to work. Still, no one was looking at them.

She staggered a few steps away before collapsing onto her hands and knees, and the demon finally emerged from her, a vomited column of grainy black smoke like a swarm of spectral flies. Dean was ready to throw more holy water on it if necessary, but it swirled out into the night, getting far away from him. Most demons weren't so sensible.

Still, nobody saw it but him. The girl collapsed to the ground, and he wasn't sure if she was dead or not. He got up to find a pulse, and she jerked her head back as he touched her neck. "Oh man, I am so wasted," she said, and hiccuped and laughed. She was drunk; it was the demon who was just playacting. At least she probably would have no memory of being possessed.

"You live around here, Kara?" he asked, helping her to her feet. She was wearing ridiculous high heels, which couldn't have been more inappropriate for a gravel pit unless she traded them for stilts.

"Yeah, over on Mason Road." She looked up at him, giving him an uncertain, leering smile. "Why, cutie? Wanna go home with me?"

He let go of her arm, and she almost fell over, so he grabbed her arm again and looped it around his shoulders. "Sure. Let's go have some fun." She smelled like perfume and stale beer sweat, with just a hint of sulfur.

She giggled, and pressed up against him again, although this time it was a genuine stumble.

It was not easy leading a very drunk girl in very inappropriate shoes and a ridiculously constricting skirt out of a gravel pit, but he managed. The funny thing was, Kara was no better balanced once they hit the street.

She giggled a lot, except for the one time she turned and casually vomited. Even then, she still seemed drunk, and went on with her story as if she hadn't just puked. Dean couldn't follow her story, although he did try for a couple of minutes. Something about a girl named Amanda, and another named Sue, and some guy named Cotton (if he ever met a guy named Cotton he was going to full on punch him in the face). She also said he was cute a couple of different times, although she also added he was not as cute as Roberto who went to State, which was just a random detail that played no part in her wider, drunken ramble of a story. It was possible it was three or four different stories that were just sliding together, like most of her vowels.

He didn't know the town at all, so had to rely on what little memory he had of walking to this place to find Mason Road. He asked her for some help, but knew better than to rely on it. Eventually, they found it.

She was cute, and he could totally see getting together with her, but maybe when she was sober, and not so fresh off a demon possession. Dean just thought he should get her home to get her away from the demon, in case it circled back, and also to get her away from some of those drunken, dead eyed football players at the pit who were eying the drunkest girls like fresh meat on the hoof. He didn't like human predators any better than demonic ones.

She lived in a very nice suburban two story, with a well tended lawn and a hedge for a fence, and a Toyota in the driveway. She tried to give him a kiss, which he dodged, and invited him inside as they staggered up the walk. He agreed, and slipped her keys out of her purse, as she was way too drunk to have fine motor skills. As he unlocked her front door, he suggested he was hungry, and she was probably hungry too, so why didn't she go rustle up some grub before they went upstairs? She agreed, and he dropped her keys just inside the doorway before helping her inside. He made sure she was tottering her way to the kitchen before shutting the door on such a nice, neat suburban house. How did people live like that? The night was dark and full of terrors, and yet they chose to live in comfortable ignorance? How? And better yet, why?

Dean walked across the street, and waited, to make sure she didn't come out again. He left the neighborhood as soon as he saw an upstairs light come on. She was probably knocking over everything in the kitchen, making such an unholy racket it woke up everyone in the house. Good. She probably needed someone to put her to bed and turn her on her side, so she didn't choke on her own vomit.

He walked back to the motel, keeping his eyes and ears sharp, in case the demon found another host and came after him. It was unlikely, but still possible, especially if the demon was a real asshole.

Dean pulled out his real flask, and took a swig of some rotgut whiskey he'd managed to lift the other night. It was just a step above drinking diesel, but it became warm going down, and it made him relax. Sometimes he had a real problem relaxing, and he needed help shifting to another gear. Dad had given him the lecture, about being too young to drink, and how he shouldn't be drinking anyway, but Dean just couldn't go along with his Dad on this. If he did, he might never sleep.

He stopped at a fast food place on the main thoroughfare, buying some food, and a couple blocks later he'd entered the Paradise Motel parking lot. He paused to drain his flask, and started eating some fries, so he was still chewing by the time he unlocked the door to the room and stepped inside.

Sammy was still up, reading, because of course he was. The TV was on some old black and white monster movie, but he wasn't watching it. "Hey Sammy. Hungry?"

He glanced up from his book, and shrugged. "Maybe. You weren't out hunting, were you? Dad said you weren't supposed to until he got back."

"Of course I wasn't. I just wanted a cheeseburger." He tossed Sam his bag of food, and shucked off his denim jacket, aware it smelled of beer. He was going to have to visit the Laundromat tomorrow, wash everything.

Dean collapsed on his bed, sitting against the headboard as he bit into his burger. He'd had better, but it was okay, especially for this time of night. It occurred to him he should tell Sam to get to bed, but then he remembered school was out for now. Summer vacation.

Dad was off to the desert with his hunter friend Miguel. He'd paid for the room for two weeks in advance, but he figured he'd actually be back by Monday. He didn't say what he was hunting, but the fact that he didn't want Dean helping told him it was big. He asked if it was that yellow eyed bastard, and just from the way his father paused before he responded told Dean all he needed to know. Dad's eventual "Maybe," was irrelevant. Dean told him if it was him, he needed to come back and pick him up, as he felt entitled to about fifty percent of that fucker's ass. His dad seemed worried about it, but Dean had no idea why. Nobody trained harder than Dean. He could even make his own shotgun shells, and modify guns. He was ready to take that fucker to school, and send him back to hell.

Dean glanced at Sammy, as he ate fries without looking up from his book. All he wanted was to give Sam as normal a life as possible, considering their circumstances, but he had no way of deciding if he was succeeding or failing. Would he know a normal life if he saw it? Well, Kara's house looked pretty normal. But he still didn't understand how these people lived.

Dean tried to watch the movie, even though the sound was down, as he usually liked ridiculous monster movies, and this was one of his favorite of the genre, the big bug kind. But the big bug was surprisingly lame, even for this genre, and he could tell this was one of those boring ones, who only showed you the bug three times, because even the filmmakers knew it was really sucky. And he had to shift a couple of times on the bed, as the hunting knife he shoved in his jeans was sticking him. He should have taken it off with the jacket, but he didn't want Sammy to see he was wearing it.

Once he finished his burger, he said, "Before you head to the library tomorrow, I want us to spar a little."

Sam groaned, and threw his head back in a very dramatic, thirteen year old way. "Dean, no. You know that's not fair. You're way bigger than me."

"Right. You need to learn how to drop someone bigger than you."

"I already know."

"I wanna make sure it's automatic. Shit can go bad at any time. Gotta be ready."

Sam continued making a noise like Dean was the biggest asshole in the world, which was fine with him. Sam could hate him all he wanted. He was never going to leave his little brother unable to face all the bad shit in the world and come out of it alive. "You're so paranoid," Sam finally said. "I'm not like you, okay? I don't wanna do this. Can't I just be a normal person for like five minutes?"

"Be as normal as you want. You just hafta give me some training time. I'm not asking for the world, kiddo." Finished with his burger, he shoved the balled up wrapper in the bag, and then got up and ducked into the bathroom.

Dean turned the taps in the sink on full, and pulled off the toilet tank lid, where a beer he lifted the other night floated in blissful hiding. Flushing the toilet hid the noise of him cracking the can open, and he chugged it down, grateful for the warmth of the alcohol in his system. He could feel his muscles loosening, the tension gradually leaving his body. It wasn't only Dad he avoided drinking in front of, it was Sammy too. How successful he was he didn't know, but Sam hadn't called him on it yet. Besides, a couple of beers at night was better than any over the counter sleeping pill.

As soon as he had emptied the can, he squashed it flat, and tossed it into the garbage can beside the sink, burying it under various detritus. Maybe they were only going to be here a couple of days, but Dean had already stocked up on the essentials: aspirin, Neosporin, gauze, Band-Aids, butterfly bandages, tape, Super Glue, Tylenol with codeine, small emergency containers of salt and holy water. It always paid to have a well stocked first aid kit standing by. He'd also taped a small caliber handgun to the back of the toilet, 'cause you never knew, did you? He also had a knife hidden under the sink. Sammy knew where they were, in case he needed them.

He brushed his teeth to get the scent of beer off his breath, and wondered if Dad would really be back by Monday. He could probably flip a coin, and be just as right or wrong with his guess.

Dean hoped he'd back soon. He'd been here just long enough to know Desert Bluffs was a fucking bore.


	2. Woke Up In My Future

_**2 – Woke Up In My Future**_

The one thing the Paradise Motel had going for it was a pool. Too bad it hadn't been cleaned in years.

It looked like there was a year's worth of pine needles, leaves, and other parking lot detritus making a covering for the top. Dean had overheard someone complaining to the manager about it, and supposedly they were getting it skimmed today, but who knew? There could be water sprites hiding under there. He should probably get a piece of driftwood and carve it into a stake, just in case.

Despite Sam's whining, they did some sparring after breakfast, and he wasn't too bad, especially considering his size. He was careful to modulate his praise, 'cause all he needed was Sam thinking he knew everything about fighting. Sammy was already smarter than him book wise; he didn't need him getting a swelled head about his fighting skills. Cockiness could get you killed in any respect.

Dean checked his phone, in case Dad called (he hadn't), and then walked Sam to the library. He agreed to meet him at three. He supposed he should have stayed; the library had air conditioning and one kinda hot librarian. But Dean was too restless, and needed to get out and stretch his legs. He needed to get more booze too.

Walking down Desert Bluffs' one main street, he saw nothing but sad shops, and many of the same places he saw in every other town. Maybe it was just nostalgia, but he could swear he remembered a time when towns were a little more distinct. But strolling past a consignment store, he saw a tiny shop with a placard reading "Madame Jade's Fortunes and Formulas", and stopped. A fortune teller? Damn, he loved winding them up. Dad claimed that there were one or two that might be genuine, but most were just scammers. Dean didn't mind that, as he was a bit of a scammer himself, but it could be really fun to fuck around with them.

He went inside, brass bells jingling over the door, and he was hit with the sweet reek of patchouli and sage, with some added lavender for good measure. The store was tiny and cramped, full of dark wood shelves chock full of tiny bottles and crystals, as well as glass figurines. Dean was studying the unicorn one – there was always at least one unicorn – when he heard a beaded curtain clack, and a woman's voice say, "Welcome."

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but not what he saw. Madame Jade was a young Asian woman in her early twenties, wearing a Nirvana t-shirt and worn jeans. Her only nod to the hippy dippy lifestyle was a flowing bright green scarf that she used to tie back her long black hair. Upon seeing her, Dean wasn't so eager to fuck around with her, or at least not in a bad sense.

He tried on his best smile. "Hi. You're not the typical kind of fortune teller, are you?"

"I'd hope not. You want a reading?"

"Yeah." Anything to be close to her.

She swept open the beaded curtain with her arm. "Come in the back."

"Yes ma'am." He followed her, admiring her ass. It was the best looking thing in this place.

The back was a tiny room decorated with old art deco style fortune teller posters and crystal wind chimes, and dominated by a tiny round table with two chairs. Jade took the chair facing the doorway, so Dean had no choice but to sit with his back to the door, which was not the way he generally liked to sit in a strange place. But he had no choice.

The table was covered with a gauzy red and black cloth that looked like it could have come from Stevie Nicks's wardrobe, and as Dean took his seat, Jade busted out a pack of standard Tarot cards. "I usually don't give readings to men your age. Or men at all."

Dean shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a Renaissance man."

She smirked. "Uh huh. Twenty dollars up front."

He pulled out a twenty and tossed it on the table. He had enough cash for the next few days, and Dad had left him two credit cards, both for Elliott Brodsky. She shuffled the cards expertly, before putting the deck in front of him. "So, what's your question?" She took the twenty and tucked it in her pocket.

He grabbed the deck, which was bigger than your average playing cards, and shuffled them like he was about to scam her in a poker game. "What's my future look like? I'm curious."

Dean had done this enough that he knew this bit by heart. He shuffled the cards three times, then cut the deck, and handed the pile back to her. She started laying out the cards in a pattern he knew was called the Celtic Cross. Again, he'd been sitting in chairs like this way too many times. Although she was the prettiest fortune teller he had ever encountered.

He recognized many of the cards being laid out, and he couldn't help but chuckle. Death, The Devil, The Hanged Man, The Tower (his personal favorite), that one card with the fluffy winged angel on it, The Hermit, some assorted sword and wand cards.

She gasped, and he quickly turned, in case something ugly had stepped inside the room. But it was just them. "What is it?"

Jade gazed at him, slack jawed, wide eyed. It seemed to take her a moment to find her voice. "You poor, poor boy. You're haunted by death, aren't you? So much violence. Stop thinking it's all on you to save everybody, 'cause it isn't. Let some battles go before you're all chewed up and spit out before you're twenty. God, this is so sad. You're so sad."

Okay, that was weird. Most fortune tellers liked going on about positive and vague things, unless they wanted to scare a customer into forking over more cash for some discount hoodoo that wouldn't work. He hadn't pegged her for that kind. "What do you mean?"

"Something evil is after your family, yes? Someone's died because of it. It scarred you." She ran her hand through her hair, putting the rest of the deck down. "You aren't a hunter, are you?"

"What?" Oh shit – was she the real deal? He'd never lucked into one before.

"A demon hunter. That's what your family does, yes?"

Dean wasn't ready to lay all his cards on the table yet, metaphorically speaking. "You really believe in demons, lady?"

Her hazel eyes flashed with impatience. "Yes, and so do you, so stop trying to play it so cool, kid. I know what you are."

Dean sat back, curious. "So tell me my future."

She scoffed. "It's awash in blood and pain. You will be betrayed by people you love, you will fail, you will fall apart, you will die. I see torture and darkness."

"That's cheerful." He also felt a twinge in his stomach. It was pretty much what he expected. Hunters didn't live full and peaceful lives.

She tapped a card with her fingernail. It was the Knight of Swords. "You are strong, and brave, and tenacious as a starving dog with a bone. Too much of a smart ass and impetuous, you act before you think, but you can't have everything, can you? You'll survive longer than anyone would think was possible, including maybe you. You have an angel on your shoulder, but that won't reveal itself until you hit absolute rock bottom. You have a substance abuse problem, probably more than one. You're big into vices."

He grinned. "Guilty."

"I don't honestly know how, but I think you're going to die more than once. You are … don't take this the wrong way, but you are completely fucked up, and just fucked in general. You're loyal to a fault. I think that kills you at least once."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." She was making up that die more than once stuff, right? Selling the drama. Nobody could die more than once. Well, okay, maybe if you died on the table and were brought back or something, but he didn't see himself going under the knife any time soon.

She stared at him, her eyebrows lowering in a stern manner. "You're what, seventeen, eighteen? I know you feel invulnerable. But you're not. Far from it. How long are you in town for?"

He shrugged. "Couple of days."

"Get out now." She started sweeping up all the cards. "Something's coming, and it's not good. Get out ahead of it."

"Wait. Are you serious?"

She scowled. "I'm not making shit up. I don't care if you believe in the cards or not. You just need to get out of Desert Bluffs ASAP."

Dean shook his head. "Look, lady –"

"I think your first death is here," she said, and suddenly threw his twenty back on the table. "Take it back. Consider this a freebie."

"What?" Okay, that never happened, unless they wanted you to come back and order something more expensive, like love potions that were mostly corn syrup. "Hold on a second. You can genuinely see the future in a bunch of cards?"

"Believe it or not, some of us do exist, just like demon hunters. And I'm telling you to leave while you still can. What's your name?"

"You can't see that?"

Her frown came back, twice as deadly as before. "Funny, the cards didn't emphasize how big a dick you are."

He swallowed a grin. He deserved that. "My name is Dean."

"Fine. Dean. I am begging you to pack up and leave. Don't wait. Go now."

"What's this thing that's supposed to be coming for me?"

"I don't know. I can't give you specifics. All I can tell you is it's mean, it's ugly, and it's too much for you. I know you think you can fight anything, and maybe you can for a while, but this is like fighting a tidal wave. You can't do that, no matter how well your father's trained you."

He sat up straight at that. "Wait … is this a con? Do you know who I am?"

"Except a hunter, and a tremendous dick? No."

"Then how did you know my father trained me?"

She scoffed. "All male court cards. You have, like, zero female influence in your life. It was your mother who died, right? When you were young?"

He stood up, torn between rage and confusion. She was too good. Either she was the real thing, a genuine psychic Tarot card reader, or this was all a set up. "Are you a demon?"

She rolled her eyes, and held up her hand, where multiple bracelets jangled. He saw a pentagram, a Star of David, a crucifix, an evil eye, a Hindu symbol he'd seen before but didn't know the name of, and a rosary bead wound up like a bracelet. "And if you didn't notice, I have a devil's trap in front of the door. No demon comes in my place."

He'd missed a devil's trap? Dean took out his flask of holy water, not sure he should splash it on her or not. "Is that holy water?" she asked.

Okay, she had just hit a hundred on his creepy meter. Either she wasn't human, or she was genuinely psychic. "Yeah."

She took it out of his hand, and poured some on her own arm. She then handed it back. Nothing happened. "Satisfied?"

"I guess so." He tucked it back in his pocket. "So you're an actual psychic?"

She shrugged. "In a manner of speaking. I need the cards to help me focus my thoughts. Otherwise I just get a whole bundle of weird shit, and I don't know how to separate it. I get impressions for multiple people at once. The cards … make it all linear."

Dean still wasn't sure if he should trust her, but he found himself wanting to. His gut had stopped sending out alarm signals. "So why aren't you making a million bucks with a phone line, or pimping yourself out to celebrities or something?"

She let out a humorless laugh as she stood up and put the cards back on the table. "You think I want to tell people their future? You wanna know the truth, Dean? Nobody has a happy ending. We all die before we're ready to, and we all die with regrets. Good people die in terrible ways, and bad people die in the best way possible. Nothing is fair, and there is no justice, unless we can manufacture some ourselves. The universe is cruel, fickle, and random. And people are fucking terrible. We don't even need demons to do bad shit, we're already doing it to ourselves." Jade realized she was ranting, and paused, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't want to be psychic. I want to be left alone."

"So what's with the shop?"

"The visions don't take the hint and leave me alone. This is a compromise for my sanity."

Dean wasn't sure how, but then again, he wasn't a psychic. "Would it be dickish if I asked exactly what you saw about me?"

She dropped her hand and glared at him, but she threw him a bone. "I saw blood. I saw you as a ghost. I saw you screaming in a lake of fire. I saw you enveloped by a huge ball of white light. There was something about the apocalypse, but that didn't make a lot of sense. I saw you holding the dead body of your brother. I saw –"

More than anything, this sent a cold shock of terror through him. "Wait, what? Sammy?"

"That's the boy you're taking care of? Your brother?"

He nodded. "What d'ya mean you saw him dead? When? Where?"

She stared at him for a good long moment before replying. "Oh my God. You care more about him than you do you, don't you?"

"He's just a kid."

"And you're not?"

Dean was briefly puzzled by this. "No. I mean, I haven't been a kid in forever. What happens to Sam?"

"I don't know. I can only see your side of things."

"If I brought him in, could you tell?"

She continued looking at him like he was an exotic species of insect she'd just found in her salad. "It's in the future. But it also presumes you survive the next week to worry about it. Understand these are most likely probabilities. The minutest changes could spin things off in another direction. Although I had a really bad feeling about that lake of fire. That felt … inevitable."

"He doesn't die. How do I stop that?"

She held her hands open, questioning. "Death, Dean. You die first. This doesn't bother you?"

"Yeah, of course it does. But I ain't dyin', not if I hafta save Sam."

"Oh my God. Dean, you need to save yourself first. If you're dead, you can't save anyone. And to save the both of you, you need to pack up and leave now."

"Not possible. How do I fight the thing coming for me?"

She made a noise of disgust and threw up her hands. "And why can't you leave? Tell me why you can't."

"Because our Dad is coming back. We can't leave before he does."

"Yes you damn well can. I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here."

Her insistence was troubling. Also, kind of hot, but that was on the backburner. "So tell me where my Dad is, and I'll go to him."

"Where did he say he was going?"

"All he said was the desert. He didn't want me following him, but if you tell me where he is, I'll pack up Sam and leave today."

She sighed, still glaring at him like he was the most belligerent asshole imaginable, and said, "Give me your hand."

He wasn't sure how that would help, but he did. She held his hand between hers, and closed her eyes. After a moment, he asked, "Should I do something, or –"

"Shh!"

Dean knew when to shut up, so he did. She just stood there, holding his hand, but he saw her brow furrow, like she was concentrating, and suddenly she dropped his hand like it was on fire. "Oh no," she said, opening her eyes. "Oh no no no. You don't want to go where he is."

"Where is he?"

"Kid, I just said. I am not telling you. Your Dad shouldn't have left you here, but he left you for a good reason. Let's just leave it at that."

Well, there was that plan down the drain. He would have forced the issue if he knew how, but he didn't. Besides, being psychic, she might know what he was planning to do anyway. "Can you tell me anything about fighting the thing coming for us? Anything at all?"

Jade was really hot when she was angry. Also, really scary. If she was psychic, it was possible she had other mental powers he didn't want to think about. Maybe she could go Carrie or Scanners on him. "Are you getting your brother and leaving tonight? You need to promise me that first."

Dean considered lying to her, but her look was just too cutting. She would know, and it might not even be a psychic thing. "Fine, yeah, we'll go. Just give me something."

She grimaced, and looked around the room before leaving. He followed her, curtain clacking as he pushed through it. "Hey."

Jade went over to one of the shelves holding essential oils and other bottles, and picked one. "This is agrimony and scorn the earth with some cat's claw mixed in. It won't kill them, but trust me, they're not gonna like it one bit."

She gave him the bottle, and he looked at it, wondering what he was supposed to do with it. Wasn't a lot to throw. "There's not a lot here."

"They're rare herbs, kid. Give me a break. If I charged you what it was worth, you'd owe me fifty bucks."

"For a bottle of spices? That's some mark up." Dean looked around, and was about to point out he didn't see a devil's trap, when he looked up, and saw it drawn in black paint on the ceiling. Wow, they wouldn't even see that. They'd be caught in it as soon as they stepped in the door. He had to remember that. That was a neat trick.

"Use it wisely. Now get out of here before –" She suddenly gasped, and he turned back to her. But she was once again reacting to something he couldn't see.

"What?"

"Now I'm in your future. Goddamn it, Dean. Get out of here before I pack up and move back to San Francisco."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good for you, bad for me," she said, making shooing gestures with her hands. It made her bracelets clink.

Dean took the hint and left, the brass bells jingling merrily in his wake. Once outside, he pulled out his phone, and speed dialed a familiar number as he retraced his steps to the library. He got voicemail, like he expected. "Hey Dad. I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I seem to have found a genuine psychic on Conover Street, and she's adamant about us leaving town right away. So I'm gonna steal a car and take me and Sam up to Uncle Bobby's. Saying it aloud, I can't quite believe I'm doin' it either, but … she was pretty convincing. Her name's Jade, look her up."

He hung up, still wondering why he believed her. But he totally did. She really did seem freaked out by whatever she saw. But how was he supposed to die more than once? He'd have asked, but Dean could guess it would be bloody and nasty each time. How'd he come back though? He'd been dying to ask, but he had a feeling she wasn't about to tell him, any more than she'd tell him where Dad actually was.

Dean returned to the library, which was at least nicely air conditioned, and looked for Sam. When he couldn't immediately find him, he called his phone and listened for the ring in the library itself. He didn't hear it.

Dean checked his watched, just to make sure it wasn't after three yet (nope, it was one), and icy fingers of panic began to grip him. He went up to the librarian and asked if she'd seen him leave, but she was no help at all.

He called Sam's phone again, and left a message. "Sam, call me as soon as you get this. We need to get out of town now." But he had a sick feeling it was already too late. A frantic search outside the library revealed nothing. He made another call to his Dad. "Change of plans. I think they may have gotten Sammy. I'm going after them."

So he returned to the motel, hoping against hope that Sam had gone back on his own. But even though the parking lot of the Paradise was relatively clear, something had set off alarm bells in his head. He had no idea what, but Dad always told him to trust his instincts. If it felt wrong, it probably was. He made sure the cap was loose on his holy water, and took the safety off his .45. At the last second, he washed the herbs down his throat with the last of the booze in his other flask.

The sun beat down relentlessly, as it had every day they'd been in California, and Dean could feel sweat trickling down his back as he crept towards their motel room. It looked like the door was slightly ajar. His urge to call out for Sam was beaten down by the fear of tipping off someone who might have been hiding inside.

He nudged open the door, raising his gun, but the room appeared empty. Still he moved cautiously inside, and wasn't overly surprised when someone tried to slam the door on him.

Dean was shoved violently back against the jamb, but kicked out, slamming the door back where it had come from, and heard the explosive "Oof!" of air leaving someone's lungs.

He moved quickly, getting in the room and kicking the door shut as he saw who had been hiding behind it. It was just a man, early twenties, with short dirty blonde hair and a patchy goatee. "Where's Sam?" he demanded, aiming the gun at his face.

The man's eyes turned black, and he made a gesture with his hand that sent Dean flying across the room. He slammed painfully into the back wall, and fell to the floor with plaster raining down on him. He still hadn't let go of the gun.

"Dean. Haven't seen you since Taos. Still doing the gawky teenage thing, I see."

Dean hadn't caught his breath yet, and the pain in his back was excruciating, but he had to hurt the demon if he wanted to beat him. So Dean raised the gun and shot him in the kneecap.

The demon screamed and dropped to the ground, grabbing his injured leg, which pumped blood all over the beige carpet. "Oh, you motherfucking son of a bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you, you fucking psycho?"

"Where's Sam?" he demanded, using the broken wall to stand up. He had his gun aimed on the demon the whole time. Kneecapping him mainly hurt the host, not the demon, but it would limit the demon's mobility and make him lose focus, which was all in the plus column for Dean. Gun still on the demon, he reached inside his pocket for his flask.

The demon groaned in pain, holding his bloody knee. Well, what was left of it. It was a perfect center shot, and the lower half of his leg was hanging on by a few strands of sinew. "Fuck you and your one track mind, Winchester."

The door was slammed open, and a female demon was standing in the doorway, an attractive Latina with hair as black as her eyes. Dean reacted without thinking, throwing holy water from the flask, which splashed her on the face. She screamed, her flesh smoking where it made contact. He saw a big shadow behind her, a larger male demon, and started shooting as he retreated to the bathroom for more holy water.

"There's nowhere to go, Dean," another male voice called out. "You can't win this fight. Don't make us rip your arms off."

He got the bottle of holy water, and grabbed the .45 taped to the back of the toilet tank. He heard movement outside the door and shot through it, and by the agonized noise knew he'd hit someone.

The bathroom door exploded open, and the gigantic male demon wedged himself inside. He must have been in the body of a weightlifter, as he was super jacked, and six foot seven if he was a fucking inch. He had blood leaking from gunshot wounds in his shoulder and chest, but he was ignoring them easily.

Dean had shifted his aim to his legs, as that was a tried and true way to knock a demon off his game, but it was too late. The demon had closed the distance and grabbed the gun, yanking it out of his hand before backhanding Dean across the face. Dean went flying before colliding with the wall and collapsing in the bathtub.

His head was swimming, consciousness threatening to desert him, but he bit the inside of his cheek, using the sharp pain as an anchor. "What is your damage, boy?" The muscle bound demon asked. "It's over. Why are you fighting? You're just hurting yourself."

He reached down and grabbed Dean by the jacket, and that's when Dean threw the holy water in his eyes.

He screeched like a banshee and reeled backwards, smashing into the opposite wall as he clawed at his own smoking face. Dean popped the clip of his gun and slammed in another one before opening fire blindly at the door, and then shooting musclehead in the knee for good measure. Despite the fact that it too was a good shot, he was still too busy screaming and agonizing over his burning eyes to notice.

Dean was strategizing, trying to figure out if he could fit through the small bathroom window or not, when a female voice shouted over the din of his covering fire, "We have your brother! Do we lob his head in there, or do you stop?"

Goddamn it. He stopped shooting, and shouted, "If you lay a fucking hand on him I will kill each and every one of you."

A male voice replied, "Big words from a little boy."

"Come in and see, dickhead."

"Throw down the weapons and come with us," the female demon continued. "Or we leave with your brother and you never see him alive again." She sounded level headed and reasonable, which was a million times worse than bluster. She sounded like she meant it.

Dean cursed, and tried to figure out if he had any options here. Nothing good. "Let him go and I'll go with you."

"This isn't a negotiation. Either you come out now, unarmed, or we leave with him. Your choice."

Goddamn it. Dean tossed his gun on the floor, and climbed up to his feet, his brain still reeling around his skull like a hyperactive kid in a mosh pit. Musclehead could punch, he had to give him that. "Tell me he's alive."

"We haven't hurt him. Yet. But that depends on you, doesn't it?"

The woman was the leader. He also gathered she was the smartest one. She was the one he had to watch out for. The others were simply your average demons, cannon fodder. Dean made a mental note of that as he held up his open hands, and walked out of the bathroom.

The Latina was in the main room, bracketed by a redheaded woman, and an Asian man, demons all. The Latina had bright red splotches were the holy water had hit her. The demoness smirked at him. "Believe it or not, Dean, I like you. I appreciate a hard target. You'd make an awesome demon."

"Eat me, bitch."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the musclehead had recovered somewhat, even though he was limping, and one of his eyes clearly hadn't healed yet. Dean was braced for the hit, but nothing could really prepare him for the freight train of a punch he took on the back of his head. At least the pain was brief, before darkness swept him away.


	3. Take My Bones Away

_**3 – Take My Bones Away**_

Sam knew he was dreaming, because Mom was making him breakfast.

This never happened. He only knew her through photographs, and an occasional story he could get out of Dean when he was really sloshed and his defenses were down. But here he was, sitting at a table in a house that was presumably theirs (again, he didn't know), and she was pouring him a bowl of cereal.

"Something wrong, honey?" she asked, putting the bowl in front of him.

He looked up at her, feeling torn. She looked just as she had in all the photographs, and yet he felt this was all wrong. He wanted to linger and run away in equal measure. "What's going on?"

Her eyes were kind and concerned. "What do you mean?"

Sam's stomach did a small flip. Did he even want to say? He had a feeling he might break the spell if he did, but didn't he want to? He wished he was sure. Sam was afraid something terrible had happened to him, and this was a retreat. Could he remember what happened? Did he want to?

Suddenly Sam remembered the most horrible thing Dean had ever told him. Leaving the house the night of the fire, Dean had smelled something weird, and he said only in retrospect did he realize it was their mother's flesh burning. Dean said once he realized that, he didn't stop throwing up for two days. He told Dad it was the stomach flu. Sam couldn't even cope with the horror of that thought. No wonder he had to get drunk to talk about it. No wonder he had to get drunk to pretty much live. He had his problems with Dean, but he didn't envy his brother everything he'd seen or done. He knew Dean and Dad were both hiding things from him, but Dean's were somehow worse. Maybe because he was closer to his age, and really shouldn't have seen those things yet.

Sam found his mother looking at him curiously. "Honey, are you sick?" She put a hand on his forehead, and he genuinely recoiled, as if her touch was unwelcome. It both was and wasn't.

"No, I – I don't understand what's going on." He stood up and went to the window, because it seemed weirdly bright. He was expecting sunlight, but when he opened the curtain, there was nothing but fire. The entire world was on fire.

He turned back to his Mom, only to see she was on fire too. Her hair was a wreath of flame crowning her head, and her skin was a shifting glaze of lava. Her eyes were still hers, still soft blue, until the very end. "Run, Sam," she said. "Run."

Sam gasped and woke up, only to find himself in a cage.

It took him a moment to realize he still wasn't dreaming. But he was indeed in a cage, one small enough that he couldn't stand up in it, and his cage was sitting on the altar of a church.

It was a genuine church, with a stained glass window casting multicolored shadows on the rows of polished wood pews. There were maybe a dozen people sitting there, of varying races and genders, but mostly in their twenties. "Hey," Sam said. "Let me outta here."

The nearest person to him, a woman with blonde hair, turned to look at him, and she had black demon eyes. "Hush, little bit," she said. "We haven't decided if you're a sacrifice or a bait dog yet."

"I say we eat 'im," a guy in a Gold's Gym t-shirt said. "At that age, they're just like veal."

"What?" Sam sat back, hoping they were joking. They were, weren't they? They were just trying to scare him. Demons didn't eat people.

Unless there were some who did. Just like there were some who apparently went to church.

"My brother is going to find me," he said. "He's going to kill you all."

The blonde demon chuckled, and her eyes flicked back to blue. The vague resemblance to his mother was startling. "Don't worry, we're taking care of Dean. Maybe he'll get to watch you die."

Sam sat back in his cage, and watched, and waited. As soon as he got a chance, he needed to break the hell out of here.

* * *

Dean came to with the taste of blood in his mouth, and a deep, throbbing ache in the back of his head. He kept his eyes closed, until he could use his sense of hearing and smell to orient himself.

He had vague memories of the motel attack, and could still feel it in the ache of his bones. He was hearing dripping water, but not like from a runny tap. There was a kind of echo, a stranger splash sound, and he realized he was hearing water hitting stone. Was he in a basement? Something like that. Although he was pretty sure there weren't many basements in California. A cave then?

If he wasn't alone, someone was being very quiet. But demons could do that. He weighed whether he should open his eyes or not. His left shoulder was really hurting.

"I am genuinely impressed by you, Dean Winchester," a woman said. The female demon from the motel, the leader. "Playing dead until you get the lay of the land? Classic. John teach you that?"

He opened his eyes. He was in some kind of basement, mostly poured concrete, but some stone and slate. The only light came from a rusty lantern tucked in a far corner. The Latina was a vaguely human shaped shadow. His wrists were chained together over his head, and he was hanging from a heavy metal hook embedded in the ceiling. He could reach the floor, but only just. They didn't want him getting too comfortable when they could use gravity to slowly dislocate his shoulders. "So you know my father, huh? I can't believe it. You know what he's gonna do to you when he finds you, right? And he's gonna find you."

"By the time he picks up the right trail, we'll be long gone. With the two things he most values in life." She finally emerged from the shadows, and touched his chest. He tried to back away from her touch, but couldn't, and she knew it too. She smiled, and he saw it hit her dead black eyes. "Well, one. We don't have too many uses for your brother besides sending him an ugly message."

He jerked, attempting a kick, but he had no leverage. "You leave him the fuck alone, you bitch."

"Such nasty talk. You should have your mouth washed out with soap."

"I told you I'd go with you if you let him go. I meant it."

"Oh, you'd be my obedient little lap dog?"

He gritted his teeth. "Yes."

She ran a fingernail along the edge of his face, finally sinking the nail in on his chin, digging deep into his flesh. He couldn't help but flinch at the pain, and from the grin she gave him, that had been what she was waiting for. "Ooh, that is tempting. But you're probably gonna be anyway, hon. So no. Nice try, though."

"What do you want?"

She put her hands on his collarbone, and he wondered if he could headbutt her. His jacket was gone, and he assumed that meant they got all his weapons. But maybe they didn't. He still had his boots on. "Why, we want your Daddy. He's an asshole and a killer, and we're gonna gut him like a trout."

"Good luck with that."

She kept grinning, showing perfect white teeth. Dean got the impression this demon had taken over an actress, or at least an actress wannabe. She was pretty enough. "You think we can't."

"I know you can't."

She ran a hand through his hair, and he tried to jerk his head away, but he was dealing with a serious lack of traction. "You overestimate him, and underestimate us. But you wouldn't be daddy's little boy if you didn't." She then licked the blood dripping off his chin.

"What are you, eight hundred? I think statutory rape charges apply here."

"Oh, you wish, you –" she paused, making a sour face. She then took a couple of steps back, and spit out his blood. "Ugh. What – what is that?"

"What is what?" So that bottle of herbs Jade gave him did work. Why did he have to guess he'd have to eat it, though? She could have told him ahead of time.

She continued to spit, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "What have you been eating? You taste disgusting."

"You a vegan demon? Now I've heard everything."

She was still making a sour face at him, and Dean found it hard not to smile. "I'm going to enjoy beating the smart ass out of you."

"I'm going to kill all of you," Dean replied. He wasn't shouting; in his mind, he was already drawing up plans.

"It's adorable how you think there's still hope. Hold on to that." She left, and he dimly saw a door open and close, and heard it lock with a kind of brutal formality. Good.

Dean had a look at the hook above his head. There was no way he was pulling it out of the ceiling, but it was thick and sturdy enough that maybe he could climb it. Could he reach the wall behind him?

It took longer than he'd hoped, and it hurt like fuck. He managed to turn himself around, and slowly pulled himself up the hook, using his upper body strength. He was glad he'd done all those pull ups now. All of this kept aggravating the injury in his left shoulder, but it couldn't be helped. He could live with pain if he could get himself free.

When he was able to reach the wall with his boots and use it to help him climb up, it took some of the weight off his shoulder, and was a little better. But gaining any traction was precarious, and he could lose it any second. Finally the muscles in his arms began to tremble, absolutely done with fighting gravity.

There was no way this was going to end well. As soon as he got the chain off the hook, he would fall to the floor, with no way to protect himself. He could crack his head wide open, kill himself with a skull fracture, or just break his tailbone or possibly a vertebrae. He may be free but paralyzed or unconscious, unable to capitalize on it in any way. But he didn't really have a choice. He released the hook and flung out his hands past the hook.

And hit the floor like a five hundred pound sack of shit.

His head bounced off the poured concrete, and both white sparks and black blotches exploded in front of his eyes. He had to lay there for a minute, uncertain if he was going to win his battle with consciousness or not. He may have lost it for a second, he wasn't sure, but the pain in his shoulder and the burning exhaustion in his arm muscles brought him back. Dean rolled over onto his stomach, and as soon as he was sure he could without screaming, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked at the chains binding his wrists together. He couldn't figure out the locking mechanism, which probably didn't matter, since he wasn't sure he had anything to pick them with. He pushed himself back until he was sitting against the cool wall, which gave a little comfort to his strained muscles. He didn't worry so much about his head, because you had to have a brain to damage it, right?

A quick check showed he did indeed still have his silver boot knife. At least they missed one. But the more he thought about it, the more Dean realized the chains might make a better weapon in his current state. They were heavy and formidable.

As soon as he was able, Dean got to his feet, and crossed the room, standing beside the door. He knew it was locked and he couldn't pick it, so he was going to have to wait for someone to return. He desperately hoped it was the leader.

He didn't have to wait too long. He heard the scrape of a key against the lock, bringing him out of his semi-doze, and waited while the door opened and a demon stepped inside.

The wedge of light from the outer hall showed the empty hook, and the demon stopped just inside the room. "Wh –"

Dean hit him full on in the face with the chain and his doubled fist, shattering the man's nose on impact. Warm blood spurted on his hands and face as Dean slammed him in the face again, this time pinning him against the wall as he punched him over and over, reducing him to a pulpy mush. Dean wasn't sure you could knock a demon unconscious, but the man slid down the wall, a bloody mess with no fight left in him. The keys to the room had fallen to the ground, but there was more than one. Key to the chains? He grabbed them, and tried it. The chains fell off his wrists and looped on the floor. He hastily picked them up and wrapped them around his left hand. These chains were fantastic. He pulled out his boot knife and now had two weapons. Dean still hurt, but adrenaline was washing away his aches. If he kept moving, he'd be as good as gold.

He shoved the demon in the dungeon room, and closed and locked the door on him. If he regained consciousness – a big if - he'd have to wait for someone else to let him out.

There was a very brief hall leading to rustic wooden stairs that ended at a door. Dean climbed them as quietly as possible, and put his ear to the door, listening intently. He gave it a minute, and when he couldn't hear anything, he eased it open.

Dean wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it hadn't been a room that looked very much like a priest's office in the back of a church. It even smelled vaguely of incense. What the hell was this? Had demons taken over a church? Why? Dean did a cursory once over for holy water, but they'd cleared that out, if it ever existed here. Same with rosary beads.

When the door opened, Dean was almost caught off guard, but recovered quickly enough to charge the incoming demon and shoulder tackle him to the floor. Dean then put all his weight on his knife and drove it through the demons neck, crunching through cartilage and bone as he bucked wildly beneath him and threw him off. But Dean smashed the butt of the knife into his face, catching him in the eye.

"You fucking psycho –" the demon spat, attempting to roll away from him. But Dean grabbed him and plunged the knife through the back of his neck, finishing the job he'd started in the front. The demon's head fell off and hit the floor before the rest of his body did, gushing blood into the red carpet below. The demon abandoned the body in a cloud of black smoke that disappeared through the air vent. A demon could possess and use a headless body if it really wanted to, but it was like trying to drive a car without a steering wheel, so if they had a better option they generally took it.

But the demon divesting his meat suit was an alarm bell for every demon in the joint, and Dean knew it. He wasn't even on his feet yet before the door exploded open and a couple of demons came charging in, but Dean managed to jump up and give one a faceful of chain before the other one threw him across the room. He hit the desk painfully and fell behind it, almost losing hold of his knife. "What the fuck ..?" the female demon said. Not the leader, the redhead from the motel.

"How did he – Jesus fucking Christ! Did he lop Tony's head off?" The male demon said this. He was a new one Dean didn't recognize.

The female demon grabbed Dean by the back of his neck before he could lunge, but as he stood he drove the knife into her gut and twisted immediately, making a wide hole. They were eye to eye, and she looked genuinely startled. The male demon punched Dean in the side of the head, and he lost a grip on his knife as he stumbled back, white stars exploding in front of his eyes. But Dean held on loosely to consciousness, and as the male demon grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, Dean spun, and looped the chain around his throat. Then, standing back to back with the demon, he bent over and pulled on the chain, yanking the demon off his feet and choking him, attempting to break his neck.

The female demon had pulled the knife out of her own gut and came at him with him, but he dropped the chain and the demon on his back, and kicked her in her open wound. She went flying back with a swallowed scream of pain.

A third demon had joined the fight, and blindsided Dean with a punch to the face that seemed to impact right on his cheekbone. He thought he heard a crack, but didn't feel any pain as he rammed an elbow into the demon's throat. (Adrenaline was a beautiful thing.) He hoped he crushed his voice box, but he didn't know for sure. At least it sent him falling back.

Now there was a fourth demon that jumped on his back, sending a new flair of pain through his injured shoulder, but Dean just bent over and flipped the demon onto the desk. He was aware of a fifth coming up on him in his peripheral vision, and spun into a side kick that got him in the knee, and sent him falling to the floor howling, as he'd managed to break the leg.

A blow to the back of the head sent more sparks shooting across Dean's vision, and a kick to the face split his lip on impact, bringing more blood to his mouth. But when they came back in for a second kick, Dean managed to catch the leg and pull, sending the demon crashing to the floor.

Suddenly he felt cold steel at his throat, a knife with a sharp blade just cutting into his skin. A male voice growled, "Enough, or I rip your fucking head off, you filthy piece of shit."

Dean threw his head back, catching the demon in the nose, which crunched on impact. He could feel the blood spurt onto the back of his neck. But this demon was better than the rest, and never lost hold of Dean or the blade. Dean felt blood now running from his throat, as the knife was puncturing his skin. "I'm gonna cut off your head and shit down your neck, you little –"

"Enough!" The female leader was back. "Lars, hold him, but don't cut too deep. We need him mostly alive."

Dean finally had a chance to catch his breath, which was probably for the best. He needed to reserve some strength for the next fight, and the room was now packed with demons, glaring at him with volcanic hatred. Well, those who weren't still on the floor, groaning over their various injuries.

The redheaded demon sat on the edge of the desk, holding her guts in with her arm. "What the fuck is he, The Terminator?"

"I told you," the leader said. It sounded like she was gloating. "John Winchester's little blunt instrument. Daddy's favorite boy is his own personal attack dog. A pit bull in human form." She leaned down into his visual field, but was keeping out of reach, in spite of the knife at his throat. "You are as soulless as humans come, aren't you? You're an empty box of broken rage."

"Come closer and say that."

She smiled. "Your Daddy did quite the number on you. You're going to be a hollow husk for the rest of your short, brutal life. And you call us evil?"

He glowered at her, only now aware he had blood in his eyelashes. "I'm gonna kill you."

"You're going to try, honey." She actually reached out and patted his head, like he was being a pathetic little boy. He tried to shake her hand off, but that just made the knife cut deeper into his neck. "It's good to have goals."

"Let's kill him now," Lars suggested. "We can't have him here if he's this dangerous."

"But he's what we're going to use to drive John crazy," the leader replied. "I say we pack him on ice and send him to the pit. Then we film the results and make sure they fall in John's lap. He'll be so mad with grief he'll be easy prey."

"Dream on, bitch." Pack him on ice and send him to the pit? Was that a weirdly worded death threat? He felt like he was missing some information here. Or it was the head injury. Maybe both.

"So we're keeping the veal alive?" Lars asked. Now what the hell did that mean?

The leader shrugged. "For now, I suppose. Let's see how well Dean fairs first." She looked down at him, and gave him a deeply patronizing smile. "Would doggie like to fight more demons?"

Dean spit at her. It was mostly blood, and it missed, but he felt he got his point across.

Lars smacked him on the back of the head, but the leader just chuckled, genuinely amused. "You hang on to your one defined personality trait, Dean. It might help you live through the night."

No matter what, Dean planned on living through the night. So he could rescue Sam, and kill all these sons of bitches. He didn't care what he had to do, he would do it.

But he had a sinking feeling it wasn't going to be nearly that easy.


	4. Punchy Stabby

_**4 – Punchy Stabby**_

It turned out, on ice was not a colorful death metaphor. The next time Dean woke up, he was locked in a freezer. His hands were duct taped behind him, and this time they taped his ankles together too. He was shivering from the cold, his breath steaming out in white clouds before him, but on the plus side, the ice was doing wonders for his bruises and other injuries. At least he could freeze to death or suffocate in general comfort.

His head felt fuzzy, jammed full of cotton wool, and he had a very vague memory of the leader sticking a needle in his arm. They drugged him? Well, that was a nice freebie, but he wasn't completely sure why. Couldn't have been to give him a free trip, or numb his injuries. Probably simple sedation for transport. He thought he felt movement, and it suddenly occurred to him that, if it wasn't the drugs, he was in a freezer truck, being taken somewhere. So they didn't intend for him to die in here? Dean, strangely, was almost disappointed. He knew he would fall asleep and simply drift off, dying quietly and peacefully, like hunters never did.

But Dean shook that off. That was a cowardly thought. He had to stay alive to save Sammy, and kill all these fuckers. He could sleep peacefully when he was dead. And hey, maybe more than once if Jade was right. A whole two nights sleep.

Dean tried to stay awake, but the drugs and cold worked against him, and at some point he fell asleep. When he woke up, he thought he was in darkness, but no, he had a black hood over his head now, so he he couldn't see where the demons were carrying him. He was too relaxed, too high, to even struggle. He really had to ask what they shot him up with; it was good shit.

Dean knew he was outside, though, as he could hear traffic like a distant river; somewhere well off the main road. The demon's feet crunched on gravel, and he was aware of the sound of a door opening and closing. His Dad told him when you got robbed of one sense, you had to use your others to fill in all the details. He was probably still in California, judging by the temperature. But was he closer or farther away from where they were holding Sam? As soon as his mind latched on to that idea, it was harder to concentrate on everything else. He could remember Dad telling him to not let his emotions distract him, to focus, but Dean wanted to pretend it was the drugs that were doing this to him. He told himself it was. He knew it probably wasn't true.

He heard another door unlocking, but this time it was more elaborate. More than one lock. The door also made an unusual noise, which made him think of something metal and heavy. They wanted to make sure he didn't break out of this room.

This room had a smell in it, one he identified as human and fearful. There was also a metallic scent of blood, both old and fresh. "Haven't you bastards killed enough people?" A man's voice asked. Dean didn't recognize it.

Also, no one answered him. They just dumped Dean on what felt like a cot, and left the room, shutting the heavy metal door behind them. Dean heard footsteps, and was aware someone was standing close to him. "You okay?" That man again.

"Kinda," Dean responded. The drugs made him want to be honest, but maybe that was just because he was so relaxed.

The man pulled Dean's hood off, and he saw he was in a room slightly smaller than the motel room he'd been sharing with Sam. And the man looked down at him totally stunned. "Holy fuck! How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

The man stomped off towards the door. "You're throwing kids in the meat grinder now, you sick fucks? Let him out of here!" There was no response, and there was a thud that Dean took to mean the guy kicked the door.

The man wandered back, and Dean saw he was just an average looking guy in his early thirties, with shaggy brown hair and thin sideburns. His face was piebald with bruises, and a cut across his forehead was recent, and not completely healed. "Think you can help me with the tape?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. Sit up."

Dean did, although he found it difficult, and leaned against the wall as the guy attempted to pull the tape off. This was a cell, wasn't it? It seemed a lot like a jail cell, just with a better class of door. "What's your name, kid?"

"Dean Winchester."

"Winchester? As in John Winchester?"

"He's my dad."

"Shit. That's probably why you're here. I'm Cliff Cooper. I'm a hunter who usually works out of Oakland."

Dean took in that information, and wasn't sure what to do with. He was so stoned. "So who's holding us captive and why?"

Cliff sighed. "A bunch of head case demons, call themselves the Church of the Black Sun."

"That explains the church setting. What do they worship exactly?"

"A demon lord called Taraka. I don't know if they're trying to bring him back or if he even exists. He's a new one on me."

Cliff got enough of the tape off that Dean was able to pull one hand free, and was now able to move his hands again. He didn't realize it immediately, probably due to the drugs, but that awkward position had really been hurting his shoulder. Dean started peeling the tape holding his ankles. "What does this church do?"

"As far as I could tell before they caught me? They indulge in a little light cannibalism and slaughter, and raise money by throwing hunters into pits with demons who pay for the privilege of killing them. And sell their meat. It's like a cockfighting ring that sells the losers to KFC."

"Fantastic." Maybe that explained the refrigerated truck. Kept the meat from spoiling. But would they eat him? Even the leader said he tasted terrible. Maybe they'd give him a day or two to get it out of his system before chowing down. Suddenly, a terrible dread took hold. "They have my brother. Are they gonna eat him?"

Cliff sighed, sitting on his cot. "How old is he?"

"Thirteen."

He grimaced. "He's probably too old, so they won't eat him right away."

"Too old?"

"Kids ten and under are considered delicacies."

Dean suddenly remembered that weird question about veal, and realized they were talking about Sam. Son of a bitch. Dean yelled towards the ceiling, since he had no demon to yell at, "You touch him and you die!"

Cliff raised an eyebrow at that. "You should probably worry about yourself, kid. No one survives the pit."

"Have you?"

"Only because they wanted me to. First they make you watch, then they tenderize you, then they finish you off. Apparently fear makes the meat taste better."

Dean wondered why this wasn't bothering him more. It had to be the drugs, right? "What's to stop us from jumping them when they come to get us?"

Cliff rolled his eyes. "Metal batons, cattle prods, choke collars, pepper spray."

"Cattle prods?" Dean wondered if he could get a hold of one. Demons wouldn't like it either.

"We've tried, kid. We've all tried. They have this down to a science. They may have been doing this for well over a year."

The drugs may have started wearing off, because Dean finally thought of a suitable question to ask. "How did you end up here?"

"I'd heard about a human meat distribution service that some demons were operating, and I investigated, even though I thought it was bullshit. But I found the church, and the church found me."

Did his dad ever write about a Church of the Black Sun? Dean didn't think so, but the name Taraka sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe his Dad had tangled with these weirdos before. He hadn't wiped them out, but he'd done enough damage to create a grudge. "Do you know how big it is?"

Cliff shrugged and shook his head at the same time. "Can't say. I know they've taken as their home base an old Catholic Church in Desert Bluffs, and I think the former monsignor is among their number."

"Possessed?"

"Got it in one."

"What about the leader? What's her deal?"

"Evangeline?"

Dean grimaced. "That's her name?"

Cliff shrugged. "It's what she calls herself. She's older than the others, stronger."

"Smugger."

"That too."

Yeah, the drugs were starting to level off. Dean could now feel his face aching. He thought his cheek looked slightly bigger on the right side. That demon probably had broken his cheekbone. At least he didn't need it for anything.

There was a noise at the door, locks being thrown, and Dean stood, getting ready to take a position to jump on whatever came through. Suddenly, Evangeline's voice seemed to filter through the wall. "Now Dean, don't make us mace you on your first day here."

He looked around for cameras, but didn't see any. That didn't mean they weren't observing them some other way. Cliff motioned for him to sit back down, and Dean did, with great reluctance.

The door swung open, and two hugely muscular men – friends of the musclehead? – came in, and along with what Dean took to be the cattle prods, they had one of those loops on a long pole that wildlife agents used to capture animals. Before Dean knew what was happening, it had dropped around his head and tightened around his throat.

Evangeline, who was behind the two men, grinned at him. "Time to come out and play, little doggie."

"No!" Cliff jumped to his feet. "He's just a kid! Take me."

She shook her head. "He's not a kid, he's an attack dog. You should watch, Cooper. You might pick up a move or two."

Dean was tugged to his feet by the noose around his neck, and he went along, glaring red hot death at the smiling Evangeline. Old demons were the hardest to kill, and had the most power, but there had to be some way he could take her down.

He was led down a narrow, dark corridor that smelled of blood and fear sweat, until they came to a large room alive with lights and noise. In the center of the room was a huge cage of chain link fence, a top to bottom cube, with a single door, and a mat laid out on the bottom. Around the twelve foot by twelve foot cage were benches, and most of them were full of demons, but there were other monsters here too. Dean wasn't overly surprised when they removed the noose from his neck and shoved him in the cage, locking the door as they left. Dean went up and gave it a kick, but it held. Of course it did. Cliff had said they were doing this for about a year, right? Dean wasn't a hundred percent sure, but he was pretty sure he was inside an old barn.

"So I don't get to watch first?" Dean shouted to Evangeline, whom he could clearly see working her way to the back row.

She was grinning, and only when she took her seat in the back, by the musclehead from the motel, did Dean see Sam was wedged between them, Evangeline putting a possessive arm around Sam's narrow shoulders. He looked genuinely terrified, but otherwise okay. "Hang on, Sammy," he shouted, fingers gripping the chain link. Sam met his eyes, and he still looked terrified, but it was different now. He was scared for Dean. "I'll get us out of here. It'll be okay."

Evangeline was still grinning evilly, but now she shook her head at his words, and he could see her mouth the words, "Ride that hope to hell, Dean."

Bitch. He was going to kill her if it was the last thing he ever did.

The cage door opened, but before he could bolt for it, a large man wedged himself inside. He was easily six foot five, almost three hundred pounds of pure muscle, and looked like the world's most buff trucker. But just looking at him, Dean knew he wasn't human. What was he? He didn't have black demon eyes, or at least not yet.

There was a sound of a bell, and in the blink of an eye, the trucker that had been in front of him was now behind him, and bodily picked him up and threw him high into the chain link on the opposite side of the cage.

The metal scraped skin, and when he impacted hard with the ground, he realized the mat had no cushioning properties whatsoever. Still, even as his head reeled, Dean tried to think. What creatures had super speed? Ghouls, right? Had to be a ghoul. You killed those with decapitation. Although Uncle Bobby had once told him if you destroyed enough of the brain, you didn't have to cut off the head. It was just hard to destroy all the brain necessary without sending the head flying. Shit.

Dean had almost no time to reflect on this, as he found himself thrown into the fence across the way, and sliding down the chain link had an effect not unlike a cheese grater. He was bleeding so much from ripped skin it actually made the journey a little easier this time. The monster audience was just about apoplectic with cheering now, a solid wave of noise crashing in on his ears at an almost disorienting volume. The ghoul kicked him hard in the midsection, going for a field goal, and the fence caught him and threw him back down as brutally as a tag team partner joining the fight. Dean spit out a mouthful of blood, and wondered if he had any chance at all. Dad would be so disappointed.

The ghoul grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back just about as far as he could before sinking his teeth into Dean's shoulder. He screamed as he felt the teeth pierce right through his skin and dig into muscle, but before he bit down completely, the ghoul suddenly disengaged, spitting out Dean's blood on the mat. "What the fuck is that taste?" he groused.

Nice to know the herbs were still working. Even though it hurt to move, Dean realized he had one chance to slow the ghoul down, and here it was. Still on his hands and knees on the bloody mat, Dean donkey kicked the ghoul with as much force as he could muster, concentrated solely on the monster's left leg. He hit it full force, and it bent the wrong way with an audible crack.

There were gasps from the crowd as the ghoul screeched and fell on his ass, his left leg bent back to front and very visibly broken. "Use super speed with one leg, you son of a bitch," Dean said, and kicked the ghoul in the face.

It didn't have a lot of strength in it, because Dean had used most of it in the initial kick, but at least it split the ghoul's lip. Dean was slipping in his own blood, and he wasn't sure where the worst injury was. The bite? It hurt his good shoulder, so now neither of his arms really wanted to do any work for him, His head hurt and it hurt to breathe, making him think he'd busted a rib or two, or at least cracked some. Being thrown around like a chew toy could do that to a person.

But in his head his Dad was screaming _Get up get up get up_. It was hard to win a fight if you were on the ground, so he had to get up and concentrate on ending it now, even though he had no idea how to do that. He could cripple the ghoul, sure, but kill it? He wasn't that strong.

Dean really just wanted to lie down, curl up in a ball, and lose consciousness. Sure, it'd get him killed, but was that really so bad? He couldn't think of a way out of this one. He didn't know how to save Sam from these fuckheads. He didn't know how to save himself either. If adult hunters couldn't do it, why did he think he had a shot?

But he remembered Sammy was watching, and he couldn't see him give up hope, 'cause then he'd know he was doomed. He had to keep fighting for Sam if nothing else. No matter that they were a lost cause. Sam couldn't know.

Dean crawled to the fence and used it to haul himself to his feet, and plan his next move. Finesse was not necessary, and not doable. He just had to jump on him and pound on his face until his knuckles touched the mat through his skull.

But even though the ghoul had one broken leg, he wasn't Human, and before Dean could launch himself off the fence, the ghoul was there, punching him in the face. By the time he got an arm up to block the ghoul had grabbed him and flung him across the cage. This time he impacted with the metal post by the door, and was pretty sure he felt a rib snap before he fell to the mat.

He landed on his hands and knees, spitting up blood. So much for the crippling the ghoul ploy.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, over the revived din of the crowd.

He looked up and saw why. The ghoul had brought a foreign object into the ring, a knife, and was now coming at him with it. Dean got his left arm up to block, and barely in time, as a millisecond later it plunged right through his forearm, scraping bone, and punching through to the other side of his arm.

It hurt, of course, it hurt like fuck, but between the pain he was already in and a final burst of adrenaline, Dean had a weird distance from it. He threw a punch that nailed the ghoul in the crotch, and rolled away. His plan was to get it from behind, but even the dick punch bought him no time, and the ghoul picked him up and lifted him over his head. Shit.

Dean had no choice. He yanked the knife out of his arm, and stabbed it right in the ghoul's head, screaming in a mixture of pain and rage.

The crowd screamed as one, and the ghoul staggered and dropped him hard to the mat. It rattled his bones and made dark splotches dance across his vision, but Dean knew he had an advantage now, and he had to use it. He got up to his knees, ignoring all the blood gushing from his arm, and lunged at the ghoul, who was still sitting on the mat, looking dazed, the knife sticking out of his skull like a unicorn horn. Dean was pretty sure he nailed him in his frontal lobe, which was a big fucking deal for humans. Maybe it was true for ghouls too.

Dean grabbed the knife and yanked it out, then stabbed it into the ghoul's head again and again, as if his life depended on it, because it did. It made a wet, thick sound, like puncturing a ripe pumpkin with a dull knife. The crowd was an angry mass of voices now, including a man shouting, "Stop the fight! Get him out of there!" He wasn't a hundred percent certain, but he thought he heard a woman laughing beneath the audience's general rage.

Something was jammed through the fence, and when it hit Dean he knew it was a cattle prod, because the pain that arced through his body was electric, and painful beyond the telling of it. He fell back on the mat, unable to control his body anymore, and would have screamed if he could have, but he couldn't. The pain seemed to explode through his brain like a lightning strike.

When it stopped, he could still feel it reverberating through his body like a feedback loop, and he couldn't move any of his limbs. People had opened the cage and pulled the ghoul out, and now angry demons were standing over him, holding out cattle prods like they were ready to hit him again if he so much as sneezed. He didn't.

The crowd was still booing, and Dean couldn't help but raise a middle finger at them as soon as he was able to move. It wasn't his fault the ghoul cheated and brought in a weapon.

One of the demons hit him in the stomach with a baton, one of the few places on his body that didn't hurt, and as Dean curled up in a ball on his side, he heard Evangeline say, "Don't damage him further. He isn't going anywhere."

No, he wasn't, and the bitch was enjoying every minute of it. But he remembered Sammy was still out there, and gave him a thumb's up to let him know he was okay, even though he wasn't.

In fact, the amount of blood pumping out of his left arm was impressive, and he wondered if the knife had gotten a vein. He was already feeling cold.

Well, Jade said his first death could be here. As deaths went, it might not be so bad. At least he died fighting, right? But Dad would be so disappointed in him. He didn't save Sam. He didn't do what he was supposed to do.

He drifted into unconsciousness, mentally apologizing to his Dad for failing him.


	5. I'm With Stupid

_**5 – I'm With Stupid**_

He arrived at the motel as the last of the police cars pulled away.

There was crime scene tape crisscrossing the room's threshold, but John could still see the door was broken, and it looked like there was at least one bullet hole in it. His adrenaline spiked, and he tightened his grip on the Impala's steering wheel. Goddamn it. "Dean, what did you do?" He knew the second he heard the voice mail Dean left him that something bad was going on. He had mentally prepared for the worst, but somehow he hadn't really. This was still like a punch in the gut.

So when the woman knocked on his passenger side window, he just about jumped out of his skin.

It was a young Asian woman, early twenties, attractive, but she was scowling at him like he was in her parking spot. He rolled down the driver's side window, and asked, "What?"

"You took your sweet ass time getting here, John," she snapped.

"Do I know you?"

The woman crossed to the passenger side door, and opened it. John thought about pulling his gun out, but he was way too confused. This wasn't typical demon behavior. "I'm sure Dean mentioned me to you on the phone. I'm Jade."

Yes, it all clicked into place now. "The supposedly real psychic? Good, I was gonna look you up."

She settled into the passenger seat, unasked. "Yes, you think I suckered your son. We can hash that out later, but Dean really isn't that dumb. Oh, and also?" After snapping in her seatbelt, she slapped him across the face.

"Ow!"

"Stop treating him like a soldier, or a weapon. He's a boy who's never really been a boy. He doesn't even think of himself as a child, but he is, and you have been ridiculously hard on him. Now put this fucking car in gear and head out towards Casa Verde. We may be too late as it is."

John sat there, rubbing his face, genuinely stunned. He didn't know if he should shoot her or propose. "Who are you to –"

"I'm the psychic," she interrupted, still angry at him. "Do you want me to tell you Dean's future, John? 'Cause it will horrify you. It scared me, and he was a complete stranger to me. And I don't horrify easy. I grew up in the Castro."

"Lady, look. Even if I buy you're a genuine psychic, I don't like you hitting me, or telling me what kind of father to be. I love Dean."

She scowled. "And that makes it worse. What, do you think you're protecting him and Sam by taking their childhoods away? You know Dean barely knows how to function as a person, right? You taught him to fake it, so he fakes it pretty well, but he doesn't get people at all. He's more at home with the monsters he fights. Think about that for a moment."

He frowned at this woman, still not convinced she wasn't some kind of monster. But he really hated that what she was saying made a degree of sense. Dean was a good soldier, hell, sometimes he was a great soldier … but was that fair? He was torn on this point. What kind of father would he be if he left his boys vulnerable to all the creatures in the world? Mary would never forgive him. Dean was too old; he knew. He could protect Sam to a degree, but it was too late for Dean, had been ever since that night. And it wasn't like telling Dean to drop anything ever worked. He was stubborn, just like his mother.

"If he lives through this, promise me you'll give them a break from this," Jade said, gesturing at the crime scene tape across the motel room door. "Just let them get off the monster beat and be kids for a while. It's what they deserve at the very least."

"If?" John asked. "He's going to."

"I read the cards before I came here, which is why I've been standing in this lousy parking lot for ten minutes, waiting for your phallic muscle car. His future was bad before, but now it keeps getting worse. Things are changing, and not in a positive direction." She slapped the dashboard. "C'mon, point this rust bucket towards Casa Verde."

He bristled, hating to hear his car denigrated on top of his parenting skills, but he could not get over the audacity of this woman. "Why are you here? You don't know them."

"I know at least one of them. And hey, they're fucking kids. You think I'm such a hard hearted bastard I'm going to leave children to monsters like that? Now shut up and drive."

Again, he wasn't sure if he should shoot her or marry her. Maybe when he got to Casa Verde, he'd figure it out.

* * *

Dean did not expect to wake up in a soft bed, in a room bright with sunlight. He expected to wake up in his cell, or maybe dead, if one could actually wake up dead. In some cases, it was possible.

But he was in a small, nice room, someone's bedroom, with bright yellow walls and matching furniture. He felt the soft glaze of painkillers in his system, and wondered if he was hallucinating.

He wondered this until he tried to move his right hand, and found he was handcuffed to the bed's metal frame. Kinky. Although he really didn't think this was a positive development.

His left arm was all taped up, and when he pulled the covers off, he saw his ribs were wrapped too. He had various butterfly bandages holding together flaps of ripped skin. They'd stripped him, which bothered him a little, but not much. He kept the covers at his waist. His chest and stomach was splotchy with livid purple and black bruises. So that was a fun thing he never ever wanted to do again.

Dean was trying to figure out if he could reach one of the nightstands, find something he could pick the cuffs with, when the door opened and Evangeline came in. She was dressed in tight jeans, an even tighter red tank top, and a black leather jacket. What was so maddening about her was she was in an attractive host body and she knew it, so she emphasized it. Dean was trying very hard not to find this distracting. "Hello, Dean. Don't bother trying to break out of those. There's nothing you can pick the lock with, and we made sure they were too small for you, so even if you broke your thumb, you couldn't slip your hand out."

Goddamn it. She'd thought of everything. "So you have a lot of experience with handcuffs, huh? Can't say I'm surprised. You look the type."

She continued grinning at him in that unsettling way, like he was her favorite pet. "I'm glad you think you're funny. That probably makes it easier for you."

"I'm goddamn hilarious. Why am I here?"

She sat on the edge of the bed, and put her hand on his face. He got a queasy feeling he was about to get assaulted in some form or another. You know, he'd had dreams like this, usually involving a cheerleading squad, but generally he enjoyed them. He wasn't feeling the enjoyment right now. "Because you're too good to eat. I have bigger plans for you."

Probably a double entendre there, but he wasn't going to make it. He tried to shake off her touch, but she refused to let go. He stopped struggling, because he had a sense she got off on that. She wanted him uncomfortable. Best to play it nonplussed, and hope she didn't see through it. "Oh really? What, am I your show dog now?"

That made her smile broader. She trailed her thumbnail down to his swollen lip, and he braced himself for the cut. "Better. You should be flattered, Dean. You get the privilege of being the human host of Taraka reborn."

Dean sat up, ignoring how the cuffs pulled painfully at his wrist. "Fuck you! I am no demon host."

Her grin was so wide it just about split her whole head in half. She held his face tight, like she was considering crushing it like an egg. "It's cute how you think you have a say in this." She suddenly straddled him, and his sick feeling increased tenfold. She never let go of his face, and he could feel her fingers leaving bruises. "We are going to have so much fun, you and I, ruling over a bloodstained Earth. Just like the old days."

"I'll die first."

"You'll die eventually. But not just anyone could be Taraka's host. We needed someone strong, and you're strong, Dean. A lot stronger than I would have thought at first glance. This whole pit bull thing will serve Taraka so well."

He tried to shake off her grip, couldn't, and finally reached up and grabbed her wrist. He couldn't budge it. She was letting her whole demon side out now, and he couldn't even pretend to fight back. It was over. He was officially trapped. "I will fight you."

"I'm sure you'll try. But that's what makes it so fun. It's no good when the puppies just roll over and play dead. You want them to struggle, to cry and scream and refuse to submit even though they have no choice. The wiggling makes it so good."

She leaned in, as if to kiss him, and he did the only thing he could do. He headbutt her.

Evangeline chuckled, even as she wiped the blood that now trickled from her nostrils. Dean was pretty sure he broke her nose, but she didn't care at all. Full demon mode was as close to numb as you could come. She dug her fingernails into his face, but that was okay, as he was still on painkillers and it wasn't so bad. Besides, physical pain he could take. It was easier to deal with that than anything else. "This is why I like you, Dean. You don't know when you're beaten. But, to quote Monty Python, you don't know when you're winning either. You're as clueless as they come. How can you know so much and so little at the same time? It's so fun!"

"Eat me, bitch."

"Have you not been paying attention? You're not for eating. You're for the big show. Put on your pasties, darling, you're a star."

"As soon as I get the chance, I'm gonna destroy all of you."

She laughed, and stroked his face. "I love it! Keep stoking that hate. It'll feed Taraka so well."

What did he do? Except for using charms and a sigil he had no access to, there was no way to fight off a demon possession. If it was coming for Dean, he was doomed. All he could hope was it was exorcised from him before it killed him. Or used him to kill other people. Jesus. There were so many worse case scenarios here he didn't know which to fear most.

Her eyes were black and bright, almost aglow with joy. She was really getting off on his panic, his suffering, his fear. He felt tears threatening to come, but he swallowed them back. He wasn't giving her the satisfaction of that. What moves did he have here? Any? "Let Sam go, and I won't fight you."

She smirked. "Are you back to thinking this is a negotiation?"

"Every second Taraka is in me, I will be waiting for one weak second, one moment of distraction, so I can kill him. Look in my eyes and tell me I won't be." He stared at her for a quiet moment before going on. "Let Sam go, and I won't fight. I'll just let it happen."

She tapped her fingernails on the side of his face, still smirking. "Uh huh. You really think I'm gonna trust you?"

"Sam will be out there in the world, right? If I ever go back on this, he's a target and I know it. You want me to be a good dog? Do this. And I'll be the best damn dog you've ever had." Dean did his best to swallow back a lump in his throat, but he wasn't certain he'd managed. It still felt like he was choking on something. He was signing away everything, and he knew it. This was so much worse than death. He was giving his body and soul away to a demon. But he didn't have much choice here, did he? No matter how much he fought, if Taraka wanted to take him over, he would. Simple as that. Dean's wishes in this matter were irrelevant. He was already gone. All he could offer was his submission. It was the only card left to play. He held himself as still as possible, so she didn't realize he was trembling.

Evangeline was giving him that face splitting grin again, showing off her bright white teeth, which made an interesting contrast with her black eyes. "Ooh. You do know how to intrigue me. So let me get this straight. We let your mewling brat of a brother go, and you, what? Walk into the circle of your own free will?"

Knowing her, the circle was literal. Dean had to clench his jaw to keep him from cursing at her. He spit out the words like broken teeth. "I will do whatever you want. I won't fight you."

She rested her forehead against his. His skin crawled at the contact. "You'll be a willing servant of Taraka? And you won't keep whining like a little bitch?"

He was gritting his teeth so hard he was sure he was breaking a molar. "Yes."

She patted him on the head again. "Good boy. I like this idea a lot. Sam's kinda stringy anyway, not a lot of meat on those bones. He'd barely make an appetizer."

"He walks unharmed, and you never bother him again. We clear?"

"Crystal. And you're my happy little lapdog?"

"That's the deal."

"Let's make it official, shall we?" She pulled his hair, lifting his face up, and kissed him. He kissed her back, trying hard not to think about what he was doing.

Dean hoped his father and Sam forgave him one day. And he hoped they killed him quick.


	6. Reactor

_**6 – Reactor**_

For a long time, Sam didn't know if Dean was alive or dead.

After that … fight, or whatever they called it, he was slung back in his cage again, and they refused to tell him if his brother was really alive or not. The last time Sam saw him, Dean was unconscious in a rather large pool of blood, with most of the crowd of monsters baying for even more blood. And why? The fight was clearly rigged, Dean was supposed to lose, but he found a way to win. From Sam's perspective, that wasn't a horrible thing. Clearly, the demons disagreed.

At some point, Sam had fallen asleep, despite the fear eating a hole in his gut, and when he woke up again, he was in a car, leaning against someone, a blindfold tied around his head. Sam immediately pushed away from whoever he was leaning against, but then he felt an arm around his shoulder, and heard a familiar, "It's me, Sammy, it's okay."

"Dean?" Oh good, he was alive. Unless this was another one of his weird dreams. Except usually in his weird dreams he wasn't blindfolded. He also smelled like Dean, which meant like leather and blood, with the faintest trace of gunpowder. "What's going on?"

Sam had reached for the blindfold, but Dean grabbed his hand and lowered it. He didn't want him taking it off. Why not? "You're being released, okay? They just won't let you see where we're coming from, that's all."

"What do you mean I'm being released? What about you?"

Dean shifted in his seat. Sam could feel padded spots beneath Dean's shirt that suggested he was wearing some bandages. Well, no shit. He was kind of surprised he was still mobile after such a vicious beating by a ghoul. How was he still alive? Then again, that was a question he often wondered where Dean was concerned. How was he still alive? Sam was beginning to wonder if life-force was will, because that would both explain how Dean kept going, and why he could be such a tremendous ass. "I'm staying with them, okay?"

"The hell you are!"

"Sam, listen to me. It's gonna be okay."

That lie again. And in that stoic Dean voice that indicated he was shutting down all his emotions, because whatever was going on was so wrong he couldn't deal with it. So his coping mechanism was to shut down and stiff upper lip it, which told Sam that Dean was half out of his mind with terror, but he was going to be dead before he showed it. Like he didn't know his brother's tells by now. "Dean, what did you do?" Sam had a sinking feeling he'd cut a deal with these demons, which was so not a good idea.

Dean never answered him. Eventually the car came to a halt, and Dean removed the blindfold from his eyes. Sam blinked, a little unaccustomed to the bright light, and he finally got his first look at his brother since he saw him unconscious in the cage.

The split lip and black eye were no surprise, as he got the shit beat out of him by an angry ghoul. He was surprised they didn't have to staple his limbs back on. But the scratches on his face looked pretty fresh. And he had this grim, thousand yard stare that just said he was seconds away from doing something awful.

That muscle guy was driving the car. That woman who seemed to call the shots was in the passenger seat, looking back at them with an evil leering grin on her face. She was enjoying this.

Before he could ask what terrible thing he was planning to do, Dean leaned in, and whispered, "Tell Dad I'm sorry." He then popped open the door of the car, and shoved Sam out. "Walk East. There's a place two blocks away. Just stop before you hit Poughkeepsie."

Oh shit. The bug out word. Did that mean Dean was hanging back to buy him some time to get away? Sam honestly couldn't tell from the look on Dean's face. It was both stoic and haunted. Whatever this was, it was really bad.

Sam did as he was told. He backed away from the car, and Dean gave him a nod of encouragement before he swung the door shut. The car drove swiftly away, making a U-turn in the dusty berm and driving off the way the way that must have come. Dean was not looking at him – Dean was not looking at anyone – so Sam took a moment to memorize the license plate.

And then he took off running.

* * *

Dean followed Evangeline and her goons into a rustic style house, which was yards away from the barn that must have been where they held the pit fights. He felt like an asshole and a coward by not attacking them or trying to make a run for it, but that was the deal, right? He had to suck it up.

He was going to have to suck up more.

The living room had been cleared of everything, including the carpet. A circle had been drawn on the floor in blood, and there had been symbols he didn't recognize drawn on both the inside and outside of the circle. Despite the heat, there was a fire roaring in the fireplace, and it was redolent of blood, sulfur, and, for some reason, mesquite and tar.

Evangeline and the muscle guy, whom Dean had learned was named Lucas, grabbed his jacket, and Dean passively let them strip it off him. Dean was working hard to be dead inside and out, but it was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

"Stand in the circle," Evangeline instructed him, throwing his jacket aside.

Dean did as he was told, feeling like a million different kinds of shit. Everything in him was screaming to fight, to do something, but he couldn't. They'd lived up to their end of the bargain, at least for now. He didn't expect that to last forever.

More goons came in, and this time they were dragging people he didn't recognize, bound by duct tape. "What is this?" Dean demanded.

Evangeline smiled at him. "Part of the spell. It's not for you to worry about."

There were six people in all, but as Dean looked at them, he saw three of them go black eyes. Humans and demons? They all had knives at their throats.

The other goons in the room started chanting something. Some of it he recognized vaguely as old Latin, but other words he didn't recognize at all. At some signal he didn't catch, all the goons cut the throats of their hostages, human and demon alike.

As the blood washed over the floor, the chanting continued, and a solid wave of dizziness hit Dean, making him drop to his knees. From so close to the floor, he saw all the blood was starting to swirl around outside the circle, joining it but making it no wider. It made no sense, but what about this did?

The sigils on the floor seemed to waver, move, and he felt a true, deep despair. This was it. His last moments as a human. He'd have cried or screamed if it would have done any good, but it wouldn't. It wouldn't even make him feel better.

Dean suddenly wondered if possession would hurt as the room went completely black.

* * *

John had come down hard on the shooting her side. Really hard.

As traveling companions went, Jade left a lot to be desired. She talked a lot, and was pretty damn judgmental. A know it all smart ass, which was absolutely one of the worst kind of people you could be on a road trip with. He was about ready to push her out of the car when his phone rang. He answered it, and was surprised when he heard, "Dad?"

"Sam?" he replied. He almost veered into the other lane. "Where are you?"

"I'm at a gas station at Tate and Rosewood. I don't know what city."

"I think we're on our way to you." He was letting Jade point the way, because he was reasonably convinced she knew where they were supposed to be. John had not ruled out that she was a part of this. She wasn't a demon, but that didn't rule out other monsters, or even a complicit human. She could have a stake in this that he just didn't know about yet. Maybe it was her job to trap him. "How are you? Where's Dean?"

Sam sighed. Sometimes he seemed like he was thirteen going on thirty. "I'm fine, but Dean's in real trouble. He's still with them. I think he cut a deal to get me released."

John hissed a sigh through his teeth. Damn it. "What are we dealing with?"

"Demons. Although they locked Dean in a cage with a ghoul, so maybe they're working with others."

"What?" Now that was truly alarming. "How badly hurt is he?" He noticed Jade giving him a lot of side eye now.

"He got the crap kicked out of him, but he still managed to win the fight. You'd have been proud of him."

Was it John's imagination, or did he hear some bitterness in that last sentence? "Shit. Do you know where they are?"

"No. But I know which way they went."

"Okay. We'll be right there."

As soon as he hung up, Jade said, "Well, at least one of them is okay."

"You know where Dean is?"

She cocked her head, as if listening to something only she could hear. "I think so."

"What are we dealing with here?"

"I already told you: Church of the Black Sun."

John shook his head. "And I already told you that means nothing to me."

"They worship Taraka."

It took him a moment, but it hit him with the force of a baseball bat to the skull. That weird group of demons he ran into in Utah a couple years ago, attempting to bring back to Earth a demon lord named Taraka. They were leaving a trail of corpses, not only because they liked eating people, but because they were unable to find a proper vessel for Taraka. The hosts they kept choosing kept exploding, like walking, talking bombs of blood and bone. To call it grisly was actually an understatement. It was like someone going Scanners on an entire human body. He remembered how confused the medical examiners were, because they couldn't figure out how the victims had bombs planted in them, and how those bombs left no residue or trace of their existence. Apparently they needed a special vessel to hold Taraka's energy, but were unable to find it.

John was pretty sure he'd kill them all. Clearly he was wrong.

Oh shit. They weren't going to try and use Dean as a vessel, were they? "Are they gonna use him?" He didn't elaborate. If Jade was as psychic as she claimed to be, she would know.

And sadly, she did. She nodded. "I believe so."

"Shit!" Most of the vessels chosen lasted twenty minutes before they violently disassembled. Taraka could and did actually do some damage in the minutes he had a body, because he was a really evil bastard.

As if on cue, a flock of dead birds fell from the sky, pelting the car like bloody hail, smearing the windshield with blood and feathers. John knew from experience that was an omen of Taraka manifesting. It was too late to stop it.

Now they were really on the clock. Dean had minutes to live, if he was still alive at all.

* * *

It was like drowning in swamp water. Thick, murky, full of slime and gunk.

In spite of his promise to Evangeline, Dean still reflexively tried to fight it, but it didn't matter, because he couldn't. Just like he didn't want to swallow the murky water, but the body allowed you to hold your breath only so long.

There was pain as he inhaled water, which was extra confusing considering he wasn't actually drowning. It was just the best metaphor his mind had to deal with this. Was this why most possessed people died? Did it feel enough like death to trick the body? Dean kind of hoped that was true, because maybe he was dead already.

Suddenly Dean found himself back in the cheap motel room he and Sammy had been staying in lately, sitting on his bed. Instantly he knew something was wrong, and before he could stand, the door opened, and he saw himself standing in the doorway. Himself with demon black eyes.

"Whoa, it's like a funhouse hall of mirrors in here, isn't it?" Taraka said, coming inside the room. Dean tried to stand, but it felt like invisible hands was holding him down. "You are one bucket full of broken, you know that?"

"Fuck you." Since he couldn't stand, Dean snaked his hand under his pillow, searching for his gun.

Taraka held up his gun. "Looking for this?" Taraka tossed it away, and it seemed to disappear upon contact with the floor. "Hate to tell you this, kiddo, but I control everything. You can't even go to a safe place in your mind, because I can put you anywhere I want."

That was exactly what he was afraid of. But there was no help for it now. "So you're here to what, gloat?"

He shrugged. "Kinda. I mean, I know this is killing you." He grinned like it was the best joke in the world. "I can't tell you how hot that is. I mean, you usually have to pay for pain this good."

Dean frowned, biting back a thousand different insults. It didn't matter; the fight was over before it began.

Taraka kept smiling at him, much in the same way Evangeline had. It was superior, leering, and awful. "Oh, don't give up now. Dean. I want you to squirm some more."

"Eat me."

"Hey, how about this. How about you watch me kill your Dad?"

He was baiting him, he just wanted a reaction, but Dean couldn't help it. The terror he felt at the thought was reflexive and abject. "I did what you asked. Why torment me like this?"

Taraka's grin became lopsided and impish, which was a million times worse than before. "Dude, demons? That's what we do. And we dropped Sammy off at a place not far from here. They should have no problem finding us."

Dean's stomach turned to lead and plummeted, or at least it felt that way. It was probably all in his head, which didn't make it any better at all. Taraka gave the bed a small kick. "What? Dean, are you telling me you didn't realize this was all part of a trap? Wow, you are stupid. At least you're strong, huh?"

Now he really wished he was dead. But he knew now there was no easy way out for him. He just had to hope his Dad killed him first.

* * *

It never got old, no matter how many times they did it. Evangeline was hoping this was the last time.

Poor little Dean was crouched down in the circle for a moment, then he straightened up, his eyes alight with blackness. Just from the energy alone, she knew Taraka had returned to her. "My Lord," she said, giving him the slightest respectful bow.

Taraka grinned, standing up. "This vessel feels stronger than the last one."

"He's young. We have high hopes."

Taraka looked at his arms, as if admiring the sinewy muscles and tight young skin. That was possible. The last vessel they tried was middle aged. A hunter, sure, but not in the greatest shape for one.

Taraka held out his hand, and the entire front wall of the house exploded in a shower of wooden shrapnel and broken glass. He laughed, throwing his hands up in the air. "Finally!"

Evangeline smiled, pleased. If she had known Dean was so perfect for this, she would have gone after him sooner. Of course, Dean and Sam were never the point. The target had originally been John, but Dean, thanks to his youth, was an even better upgrade. Not that she'd tell Taraka this. Let him think Dean was the plan all along. It made her look brilliant, and her rewards would be immeasurable. And how perfect would their revenge on John be using his own son as the weapon? That was the problem with attack dogs, though. Sometimes they turned on their masters.

Taraka held out his had to her. "Let's go raise some hell."

She thought he'd never ask.


	7. Lawyers, Guns and Money

_**7 – Lawyers, Guns and Money**_

Only Sam would pick now to argue.

"I'm not staying in the goddamn car, Dad," Sam said, hastily loading a sawed off shotgun with rock salt cartridges. Wouldn't kill a demon, but it would hurt them a lot, especially if you hit them in the right place. "I know how to shoot, and how to recite an exorcism spell, so let me do that."

John intended to keep arguing with him, but they really had no time for it. He'd had an eye on his watch since the birds fell from the sky, and the second hand seemed to be moving faster than usual.

"Let the kid help," Jade said unhelpfully, looking at her sawed off like it was the neatest toy she'd ever been given. "It's better than having him here, waiting to be grabbed and used against us."

"Gee, thanks," Sam said.

Jade shrugged. "Just thinking logically, kid."

"And you're sure you know how to shoot?" John asked her. He knew Sammy could shoot, even if he wasn't quite the natural deadeye Dean was.

"Of course I do. I've probably been shooting since before you were born."

John studied her out of the corner of his eye as he drove down what seemed to be a curiously empty road. This woman was what, easily a decade younger than him? Closer to Dean's age than his. It had to be a joke, but a very clumsy one. Still, it made him wonder if she had just tipped her hand.

"Can I have one of the grenades?" Sam asked.

"No." John had some custom explosives – calling them grenades was shorthand – full of rock salt, holy water, and silver ball bearings. They could do a lot of harm to a lot of demons in a short amount of time, but it also did a hell of a lot of property damage. You had to have something really solid to duck behind if you used one, and really good aim. He rarely even trusted Dean to use one; there was no way in hell he was letting Sam use one.

John also had one special bullet left in his .45. Made of consecrated, salt infused iron, it could supposedly take out a demon of Taraka's caliber. It could also kill Dean too if he wasn't careful. So he had one shot, and he had to make it count. He had to kill Taraka but not Dean, assuming he was still alive. There were so many ifs involved he hated it, but he had no other choice. And the clock kept ticking.

It was easy to find the property where Sam and Dean had been kept, as it was currently on fire. The house, the barn, even the back field were all engulfed in flames, pouring black and gray smoke into the sky. One look at that inferno told him no one was still alive on that property, but there was a small town not far from here. A small town that would be a great source of victims for Takara.

John put the pedal to the metal, going way too fast, but there was no time left to spare. There was no telling how many of these demons and monsters were in the cult, or how much time Dean had left. It had been eight minutes by his count, but there could be an error of a minute or more on either side.

"Leave Dean to me," John said, not sure if he was talking more to Jade or Sam. "Watch your backs, and cover my play. I'll be going in. I want you stand behind a salt line and keep the others distracted. No heroes."

"Dad –"

"Do not argue with me, Sam. Not now. Wait 'til we have your brother back."

In the rearview, he could see Sam frowning. He really wanted to keep debating this, but sense prevailed, at least for now. There was no telling when that dam would burst. He still didn't get this thing between Sam and him. He wished it would stop. But with Sam entering his terrible teens, he didn't see it stopping any time soon.

John gestured to the glove box. "Can you get some amulets out of there for me?"

Jade opened it, and a couple of phones fell out. "Do you have enough of these?" She found the anti-possession charms, and tossed them in John's lap.

He threw one back to Sam, and another at Jade. "Wear these at all times."

Jade stared at it, as if she'd never seen one before. "Cute. Kinda crude, though, isn't it?"

"It'll keep you from being possessed."

Jade simply raised an eyebrow, and put it on, but the way she looked at him, she seemed to be insinuating she was humoring him. Whatever. Should he leave Sam alone with her?

The town of Casa Verde was also on fire, or at least a part of it was. John spun the Impala into an open parking lot beside a building that hadn't caught yet, and beneath the choking smoke that was now fogging the town in a halo of chemical scented air, he saw some bodies splayed on the sidewalk.

Once he was out of the car – eleven minutes and fifty five seconds by his count - he popped the trunk, and handed salt and holy water to Sam, who was already there. He was as eager to retrieve Dean as he was. Jade lagged behind, and stood off to one side, eying the trunk arsenal with some trepidation. "You don't happen to have a Howitzer in there, do you?"

"Not at the moment," John replied, hefting his shotgun and walking to the edge of the lot. Although the smoke made it hard to see, just from the screams and laughter alone, he knew Takara was just up the street. He heard the sound of a spray paint can being shaken behind him, and he knew Sam was already painting a devil's trap. It wasn't that he couldn't do these things; it was half the time he didn't want to, out of simple defiance. Apparently, when it came to Dean, that didn't matter as much.

"Jade, why don't you go across the street and make a devil's trap?" John suggested. "We'll get better line of site shots if we're covering both sides of the street."

"Oui, mon capitan," she replied, grabbing a can of spray paint and walking across the street. She was so carefree about this, she didn't even try and dodge the flaming tire that crossed her path, although it missed her by several feet. Was that part of her psychic thing too?

John glanced back to make sure Sam was still busy painting the trap before heading up the sidewalk, into the worst of the chaos. He wanted to get as close to Dean as possible before he had to shoot him. If he even had time to be that careful.

* * *

Sam drew the devil's trap, like he was taught, like he could draw in his sleep. He sometimes wondered what normal kids his age dreamed about. Video games and movies and ice cream sundae bars? He dreamed about demons and devil's traps, rock salt bullets and angry ghosts. His mother burning up, and things in the shadows too dark for him to see.

The air smelled like three different kinds of death, and he wondered how poisonous the air actually was. He also wondered if any of the screams were Dean's. He didn't think so, but they were so far away he wasn't sure.

Was he still alive? Sam felt like he had been asking this question since he was first kidnapped. He had no doubts at all that his brother would die for him. He would die for Dean too. Would his Dad? Sam honestly didn't know. He wanted to think so, but Dad was so busy on his hunt for the yellow eyed demon, he sometimes wondered if he remembered they were alive. Sam was kind of surprised he even responded to Dean's calls in this instance.

Maybe because it was Dean. He didn't fool himself into thinking Dean wasn't his favorite, 'cause he clearly was, but as far as Sam could tell, he was his favorite for all the wrong reasons. Dean was his favorite because he followed all his orders, because Dean would do anything to make Dad happy. The fact that Dad was rarely happy made Dean's need to please him all the worse. Sam found himself getting angry at Dad on Dean's behalf. Sam would have given anything if Dean would just push back against Dad sometime.

Maybe not now. Maybe he could save it for when he was free and not stuck with a demon cult or whatever the hell this was.

After the devil's trap, Sam made a circle of salt, an emergency precaution. He set up a bunch of glass bottles of holy water, also known as holy Molotov cocktails. He had guns with rock salt and silver shot, and he had a piece of paper with the exorcism rite on them, as well as a pocket recorder that played it on an endless loop. He was pretty sure he was going to be okay, and his Dad would be okay. He didn't know about Dean.

And he didn't know about that Jade woman either. Dad had lots of hunter friends, and some weirdo friends who were just strange. He'd never met this woman before, who claimed to be a psychic, and seemingly knew where Dean was. Sam could tell Dad didn't completely trust her. Then why was she here?

Sam made sure the safety was off and looked across the street to see how Jade was coming with the devil's trap. But she wasn't there. There was no devil's trap, either. Where did she go?

Sam looked up the street, but basically he saw nothing but smoke. There were some figures moving in all of it, but he couldn't tell one thing from another. Had the demons taken her already?

Sam took a shooting stance, and waited for something to emerge.

* * *

There was no challenge at all in knocking over a little sandbox of a town like this, or feasting on the inhabitants. But damn, it was fun.

Dean Winchester was an even better vessel than Evangeline could have hoped. Taraka was able to use his powers in full, and Dean's head didn't explode like an egg in the microwave. Yet. He wasn't even bleeding either. Again, yet. But signs were very positive he may be able to hold it together for a while.

With a gesture, Taraka yanked the soul out of three people driving away in a car. The windows shattered and the people seized as blood suddenly exploded out of their noses. Normally soul extraction wasn't quite that violent, but Taraka made it an art. Evangeline was content to just rip out throats and throw people around for shits and giggles. It was basically just a chance to stretch their legs.

A gunshot rang out, and Lucas stumbled. Taraka stopped walking, and held up his hand. "Hey, look. It's that asshole hunter." Taraka turned, and with a simple gesture he threw a car at John Winchester. It looked like he ducked into an alley, but it was hard to say, as Taraka threw a Buick, and that was a lot of excess vehicle. "C'mon, John! You really gonna shoot your own son? He's still in here, you know. Screaming like a little bitch, but here."

Evangeline went left, while Taraka walked down the center, and Jeremy went right. If Winchester was pinned down in an alley, they needed to finish him off before he could regroup.

Taraka sent the Buick flying aside with a wave of his hand, and an orb came flying out at the same time. It exploded before it hit the ground, and sprayed them all with salt, holy water, and silver. It burned like acid, and she couldn't help but scream and claw at the bubbling skin on her cheek. Jeremy was also screaming and grabbing his face, bent over against the wall. But even though Taraka's skin was bubbling a little, he seemed hardly effected. "Really? That's what you got? Penny ante bullshit like that? John, I am shocked. I deserve a hell of a lot more respect than that."

There was a gunshot, and Taraka raised his hand to throw John Winchester into next year …

… and time froze.

Evangeline was really confused. Taraka had never frozen time before. She had no idea it was in his power set.

But then Taraka looked around, confused. "What's going on?"

"You know what's hilarious here? If you stuck to the plan and took John, we woulda let you have him. His purpose is kinda done. But oh no, you had to go for the boys. Rookie mistake."

They all turned, and saw an Asian woman standing in the middle of the street.

Taraka raised his hand, shooting power straight at her, but she waved a hand, and suddenly Taraka wasn't shooting power at all. Evangeline was picking it up now. She wasn't human; she had no idea what she was. She was radiating a power field of a kind and intensity she had never encountered before. The woman fixed Taraka with a dismissive stare. "Really, chuckles? Mine's way bigger."

Jeremy made to charge, and the woman made a gun of her thumb and forefinger, and said, "Bang." Light exploded inside Jeremy's head, his eyeballs disappearing in a white flash before he dropped to the ground, a dead, smoking husk. "Haven't figured it out yet, huh? You were always short bus material, Taraka."

Taraka narrowed his eyes and scowled. "Who dares –"

"Oh, just shut up. You're never gonna impress me. It's making me sad for you." The Asian woman suddenly morphed into a slender brown haired man. Evangeline's mind went instantly to shapeshifter, but they didn't have the kind of power this guy was shedding. He was like a nuclear furnace, or maybe a quasar. "Have you wondered why you feel so good wearing Dean like a cheap suit? He's the Michael sword. He's Heaven's, we saw him first, we called dibs. You can't have him."

She exchanged a puzzled look with Taraka. "Heaven?" Taraka finally said. "Heaven's left Earth alone for –"

"Years, yeah, I know. Why do you think I came down here? To get away from that crap. Believe me, I usually don't do their dirty work, but Michael asked me to take care of this for him, and … eh, I owe him one. So he called in his chit." The man – the angel? – shrugged. "At least Mikey won't have anything on me later, when this apocalypse shit heats up, know what I'm saying?"

She looked at Taraka, who shook his head. "No," Evangeline replied.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, you lesser demons are so dumb it hurts. The funny thing is, Sam was made for Luci. He'd have been perfect for you. But, I know, wrong age. All the zits and mood swings and unwanted hair of puberty. Whoever wants to go through that, am I right? The hilarious thing? He's gonna have a growth spurt a couple years down the road that'll put Goliath to shame. I mean, the guy's huge! A total gangly oaf. Luci always did go for the big ones, so I don't know why I was surprised."

"Who the hell are you?" Taraka demanded.

"Hmm. Well, Currently I'm going by Jade, the real fortune teller, but I guess I've torpedoed that identity now. It was a lot of fun too. Telling people they were gonna die masturbating in front of an informercial, and their bodies would only be recovered when the neighbors finally reported the smell. I mean, if you can't mess around with mortals, where's the fun?" Noticing they were all staring at him, he finally said, "Gabriel. But I'm gonna guess a brain trust such as yourself have no idea who I am."

"An angel?" Lucas guessed.

Gabriel shook his head. "Archangel, numb nuts. I mean I can pretty much end you as soon as look at you." And to prove his point, Lucas's eyes vaporized in a white light that shot out of his skull, and he keeled over into the street. "Frankly, this is no challenge at all. I'm really disappointed. I was expecting more."

"I'll kill you," Taraka proclaimed, and took one step towards him. Then he seemed to hit an invisible wall, and could go no further.

Gabriel grimaced. "Yeah. You and what eternal night god of the cosmos, asshat? Seriously, I am so out of your league I don't know how you can view me without a telescope. I mean, blowing up all your hosts? Total bush league. No wonder Hell was happy to be rid of you."

"Hey!" Evangeline exclaimed.

"Sadism Barbie, do I come down to where you work and slap the baby out of your mouth? No. So zip it."

She meant to castigate him for daring to denigrate her lord, but she couldn't open her mouth. She touched her lips, and found out why: they were actually zipped shut.

"I mean, if you idiots stuck to your original time table, I wouldn't have even had to put on my pants. Dean and Sam would have blown town, and you would've lost your shot. But oh no, you're as impatient as you are stupid." Gabriel threw up his hands in frustration. "I had brunch plans! My day is totally shot. And John Winchester has such a stick up his ass! I had no idea. It's actually kind of amazing Sam and Dean aren't screwed up worse. I was so tempted to turn him into hamster."

"Umm," Taraka said. She had no idea if he had a follow up to this.

"I'm not going to kill you," Gabriel said. "I just wanted to take a time out to let you know how dumb you are, because I don't think you've appreciated the depths of your own stupidity. Which is why you're gonna die. And, oh, FYI – it's not John that kills you. Everybody will think it is. But between you and me, while Lucifer likes 'em big, Mikey likes 'em efficient. You wanted a killing machine; boy howdy, you got one. Come on, Dean, take control and end this ass clown. I got things to do."

Gabriel then snapped his fingers, and two things happened simultaneous: he disappeared, and time restarted.

A bullet punched into Taraka's chest, and Taraka collapsed the nearest building in rage. Or at least part of it. The roof crumbled into rubble and slid like a rockslide into the alley, but it stopped two stories down. At best, Winchester was partially buried. Why did it stop?

As Taraka stumbled back, she saw something unprecedented happen (again). One of his eyes turned blue; the other remained black. But it wasn't Taraka looking out of it. Which should not have happened. In fact, she was pretty sure it was impossible. Dean should have been dead inside his meat suit by now.

But somehow he wasn't. She could see the recognition in his eye as Dean saw her. And this is when everything went horribly wrong.


	8. Orpheus

_**8 – Orpheus**_

Dean was not completely sure why it happened. He was just glad that it did.

Taraka, as a version of himself, was tormenting him in the cheap motel room of his mind, and then suddenly he just stopped. Taraka, using Dean's black eyed face, looked off towards the ceiling. Dean felt, distantly, a burning pain in his chest, and realized this pain, whatever it was, was hurting Taraka too. It was also making his grip on Dean slippery and weak. And Taraka couldn't attack Sam or Dad if he was dead.

Dean didn't wait to see if Taraka would regain control. He pounced, tackling Taraka, and sending them both plunging through the wall.

Would hurting Taraka here matter? Would it have an effect on him in the outside world? Dean didn't know, but he kind of hoped so. Even if it didn't, he was going to enjoy this.

Dean slammed his fist into Taraka's face over and over again, feeling something like bone crack under his knuckles. Taraka finally managed to buck him off, and threw him out into the parking lot. Dean hit asphalt and rolled, coming back up to his feet. Did that bastard think he was going away that easy? "This is foolish," Taraka insisted. "You cannot eject me. I own you."

Dean was dizzy, and suddenly saw two different things at once. Through his right eye, he was here, in the parking lot; through his left, he was somewhere else, bringing down a building. Dean felt the power leaving him, did not understand it or what was happening, but he told himself to stop. And the building stopped crumbling.

Dean turned and looked around with his half vision, and saw Evangeline staring at him in what appeared to be horror. He gathered up that power he could feel in his mind, burning in his chest, and aimed it at her like a fist.

Evangeline's head rocked back, as if she had indeed been punched, but it wasn't blood that flew out of her mouth. It was her demonic self, all black spectral smoke, and it seemed to burn up and turn to ash in the air. Her body collapsed to the street.

Dean felt the mental pull of Taraka trying to wrest his power back, and suddenly he could only see the motel parking lot, but it was wavering like a heat mirage in the desert. Taraka's grasp was slipperier than he wanted Dean to know. But Dean knew. He could feel that invisible hand trying to crush his mind and soul losing tension. This might be his only chance to break free, and he wasn't going to waste it.

Dean imagined he had his favorite .45, and suddenly he did. He started blasting holes in the closed motel room door, and just because he wondered how much control he had over the environment, the motel and parking lot were suddenly replaced by Uncle Bobby's junkyard. Taraka was just standing in the aisle between rows of crushed cars, looking bewildered. All this time, both Dean and Taraka were aware of the growing pain from the fire that seemed to have settled in his chest and taken root, a volcanic ember of creeping death. "You stupid son of a bitch," Taraka said. "If I die, you die."

"I'll take that bet," Dean said, shooting him in the face.

Taraka reeled, stumbling backward, but he kept his balance, and glared at him with a neat new hole in the center of his forehead. "I'm not powerless yet." He raised his hand, and Dean flew backwards, crashing into a cubed car. It knocked the wind out of him, but funnily enough, his chest hurt too much for any secondary pain to get through.

"Oh, but you're close," Dean said, and he imagined he had two guns. Suddenly he did, and he fired them both at Taraka, the multiple bullet strikes making him jerk and fall backwards. "And I'm gonna push you over the edge, asshole, even if I have to go with you."

All things considered, it wasn't a horrible death. In fact, considering the circumstances, it was probably the best he could hope for.

* * *

John knew something weird was happening, but he wasn't sure what.

He was going for a shoulder shot, but it looked like he caught Dean in the upper chest. It missed his heart though, and he was pretty sure he missed his lungs, or at least he hoped so. Since part of a building fell on his head, he wasn't sure.

Okay, the debris mostly missed him, thanks to the Dumpster he was hiding behind, but something strange was going on. First of all, he expected Taraka to dump the building on him – why did he stop? John peered over the top of the Dumpster to see that Taraka was stumbling backwards, as if he was being shot by someone else. But he wasn't.

Then the female demon he was with jerked back suddenly, and the demon came out of her as if purged, then burned up. He didn't hear an exorcism spell, so he didn't understand how or why that was occurring. But Taraka seemed to have forgotten all about him.

Taraka was still reeling backwards, blood leaking copiously from Dean's chest wound, and for just a second, it looked like only one of his eyes was black. What the hell was this?

John readied his rifle and climbed over the rubble, headed out for the street. The closest demon henchmen to Taraka seemed to be already dead, including the girl. He was half tempted to call out Dean's name, but refrained for the moment. Was there any way to fight a demon possession from the inside? He never heard of such a thing, but the way Taraka's body seemed to spasmodically jerk, it was almost as if two beings were fighting over control of a single body. Maybe with the ammo slowly killing Taraka, Dean had found a way.

"That's my boy," John said, taking aim at a demon across the street. Maybe there was some hope after all.

* * *

Taraka was losing the fight. Dean knew this, because he kept trying to cheat.

He'd yank locations right out from under him. Bobby's became a swamp, became a parking lot, became a hellscape of burning lava and black rocks. "Is this supposed to scare me?" Dean wondered. He searched the landscape with his guns raised, looking for a target to hit. But Taraka had taken to hiding, which was just another sign of the power slipping through his fingers.

Dean felt a deep tearing sensation somewhere in his chest, the pain so blunt and different than the burning that it made him pause. "I still have your body. I can still rip you apart."

"Go for it. Use the last of your strength killing me. We both go down together."

"You're not afraid to die? What's wrong with you?"

"I don't wanna die. But if dying means you can't hurt my family, so be it." Where the hell was he? Dean turned the ground solid with a thought, and shifted the view from the hellscape to a forest. Okay, it gave Taraka trees to hide behind, but at the rate it was going he was gaining no traction. And then suddenly, something occurred to him that was stunning in its simplicity. "Holy shit. You're afraid to die."

"I do not die!" His voice boomed so loud it seemed to shake the ground. "I am eternal!"

"Not anymore." Dean hadn't really explored this weird connection he had with Taraka, but now he was. They were both dying; they could both feel it. That glowing ember in his chest was a raging forest fire now. Dad had shot him with something fatal to the demon, but it wasn't doing Dean any favors either. "You don't want to go back to Hell."

"It's my realm! I should be its leader!" He sounded impotent with rage and almost sad. Dean came within a hair's breadth of pitying him. He was a demon leader without a country. How incompetent did you have to be to be demoted in your own dimension?

"We all got baggage, buddy. But we all don't slaughter people for shits and giggles."

Suddenly Taraka was behind him, holding a knife to his throat. "Don't you? You like killing monsters. That scares you more than death, doesn't it? You know you're a monster at heart. You belong with us."

Dean turned the gun, aiming it over his shoulder, and shot Taraka in the face at point blank range.

The knife slid along Dean's throat as Taraka fell away, but he didn't care. He couldn't kill him here; Dean was going to believe that was true until it was or it wasn't. Ignorance was bliss, right?

"You motherfucking bastard," Taraka said, dropping the knife and grabbing his face.

"C'mon man, you just called me a monster. You gotta expect a monster move."

Distantly, in the outside world, Dean could now hear Sammy shouting Latin words. Exorcism spell. There was a mild pull to Taraka, but not much. He was too big a demon to be booted by that. Although, if he continued to weaken, it might be enough.

Taraka glared at him, the massive hole in his face healing up. "I will drag you to hell, Dean. If not today, tomorrow."

Dean shrugged, raising his weapon. "Or I'm putting you there. May the best monster win."

From the way his blood felt like lava, Dean was pretty sure the point was almost moot now. Either one of them was about to win, or they were both going to lose.

* * *

Sam had failed to find Jade.

He made his way up the street, trying to stick to shadows, shouting the exorcism ritual as its own protective charm. He'd only had to throw holy water at two people, and shoot at one, so he felt lucky. But where had Jade gone? He'd had to step over a couple of bodies, but none of them were Jade. He was glad, but he remained really confused. How could she just disappear like that?

The smoke cleared enough at the end of the block that Sam was able to see Dean standing in the middle of the street, surrounded by corpses. At least he was still alive.

He seemed to be drunkenly stumbling, which would be in character, but when did he have time to get loaded? But then Sam noticed the hole in his chest that was leaking an awful lot of blood, and that his eyes seemed to be cycling between regular blue and demon black. What the hell was going on?

He kept reciting the exorcism rite, on the off chance it would help, and his Dad crept out of an alley and came to stand beside him, holding his rifle at the ready. It looked like the smart demons had fled, either in advance of the fire or in the advance of them. Maybe both. Sam wanted to ask his Dad about Dean and tell him about Jade, but had to finish the chant first, as it was useless if you didn't finish it.

He finally came to the last word, and Dean fell to his knees on the street. The spectral smoke of a demon came vomiting out of his mouth, but it seemed to turn to ashes in the air, joining the rest of the choking debris from the fire. There was no demon black in his eyes anymore.

For a moment, Dean was conscious, and he said what sounded like, "Sayonara, asshole." Then his eyes rolled up to whites, and he collapsed face first to the street.

"Dean!" Dad slung his rifle over his shoulder and bolted to him, checking for a pulse. Sam assumed he had one, just because he was still bleeding quite a bit. Dad picked Dean up, and asked, "Where's Jade?"

Sam was forced to shrug. "I dunno. I haven't seen her."

"Shit. We're just gonna have to come back for her. We need to get Dean to a hospital now."

Sam almost said, "No shit," but managed to keep it to himself, and took point on demon watch as they returned to the car. He was inexplicably angry, and didn't really understand it until they made it back to the Impala, and Dad put Dean in the back seat. Dad was drenched in Dean's blood, and that's when it clicked for Sam. He was furious at him for what had happened to Dean, and it wasn't even about the gunshot wound that Dad must have given him.

This was all Dad's fault. Every single thing that had happened to them from the kidnapping on. And if Dean died, Sam was never going to forgive him.


	9. Dig Me Out

_**9 – Dig Me Out**_

The hospital didn't completely buy their story of how Dean got injured, but they were so swamped with injuries it didn't matter much.

They assumed the weird internal burns he had in his throat were due to smoke inhalation, and not due to demon possession. John hadn't been aware of any internal bleeding either, but considering the beating Dean took previous to possession, he shouldn't have been surprised. The bullet wound was not terrible, so at least he got that right – it was a clean shot, and the bullet didn't fragment. But Dean had lost a lot of blood, and needed surgery, and needed to stay. John wasn't crazy about that, because he didn't know how many of the Taraka demon cult were still out there, and still looking for some revenge, now more than ever. So he was just going to have to camp out in Dean's room and make sure no demons got through. Sam was going to have to camp out too. He had no idea how he was going to pull this one off.

But the chaos of the fire/destruction might work for them here, as the hospital was small and being slammed. No one had time to police them. He expected nurses to complain about the salt lines, but what could you do? Except put them back after they broke them.

Sam was brooding. John ignored that, mainly because Dean was hurt and of course he'd brood about it. He was bound to be upset. John cut him some slack on that. But he was waiting for the explosion that he knew was bound to happen.

Finally it did. They'd finished putting a salt circle around unconscious Dean's bed, when Sam slammed the salt canister down. John sighed. "Sammy –"

"Why don't you leave now, Dad?" Sam snapped. "I can look after Dean. Let's see if these monsters will follow you this time instead of come after us."

"Sam, that isn't fair. If I knew they were still out there, I wouldn't have left you alone."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah. Because you never leave us alone."

He scowled. If this was Dean he could just bring up it was an order, and it would all be dropped. Sam may or may not drop it, depending on his mood. And John had a sense he was in no mood to drop it. "Not when I know there's something after me."

"Oh really? Kansas City? Portland? Collinsville? Do I really need to go on?"

"Dean caused that mess in Portland."

Sam grimaced and his shoulders set in a stubborn manner. "Oh, right. He saved that girl from a werewolf attack. How _dare_ he."

John shook his head, shoving the canister of salt back in his rucksack. "He should have known better than to go up against an entire pack. He wasn't prepared, and it could have been a massacre. Both of you could have ended up turned or dead."

"But we weren't, and we saved some people, which is what you trained us to do. And we're so used to being without you we don't even think about it anymore." Sam's face was flushed, which told John he'd really worked up a head of steam. "I think you should go. Just do whatever the hell you were doing. Dean and I will be okay. I'll look after him."

He sighed, and sank back in a chair. "I know you're upset. But –"

"Goddamn right I'm upset! Dean needed you, and you weren't there for him."

That kind of threw him for a moment. "What?"

"I knew Dean was gonna come after me. I knew he was gonna save me or die trying. But who was supposed to save him? That wasn't fair, Dad, and it isn't right."

On the one hand, he was proud of Sam for sticking up for his brother. On the other hand, he wasn't crazy about the implications here. "I saved Dean. We saved him."

"Did we?" Sam gestured to Dean, who was still out cold in his hospital bed, nearly as white as the sheets, except where the bruises and scratches gave him color. He was surrounded by a small collection of machines and IV stands that at least implied steady recovery. "Did you know I had to watch him almost get beat to death in that cage? And I couldn't do anything. I could only sit there." Sam was crying, but they were angry tears, and he wiped them away with brutal efficiency. "If that ghoul hadn't brought in a knife to stab him, Dean would be dead. That fight was rigged. He couldn't have won it under any other circumstances."

"I'm really sorry that happened."

"Yeah, me too. But Dad, this is killing us. Either cut us loose or keep us with you. Stop throwing us to the wolves whenever you get a lead or a job you think we can't handle."

"I would never throw you to the wolves, Sam. Don't even insinuate that. You're my boys and I love you."

"So why are we the last thing you think of?" Sam then left the room, still wiping tears from his eyes, and John decided to give him a moment to pull himself together. His own stomach was in knots.

He looked at Dean's bruised, unconscious face, and asked him, "Do you think I failed you?" Of course he didn't answer. John didn't want an answer; he wanted the question to just hang there, rhetorical and damning.

If John was honest with himself, he knew this was no way to raise any kids, even if all he wanted to do was protect them from the monsters of the world, and hunt down the one particular one who might come back for them one day. But he also wasn't sure how to make this right.

He pulled out his phone, and made a call he really didn't want to make. But he didn't see that he had any real choice in the matter. "Bobby?"

Bobby heaved a heavy sigh over the phone. Bobby was probably the most knowledgeable hunter he'd ever encountered, but God, was the guy crabby. "Winchester. I take it this isn't a social call."

"Not as such. I'm out here on the West coast, looking for yellow eyes … but I was wondering if the open door policy for my boys still applied."

"Don't tell me you have the boys with you? Goddamn it, John, give them some stability in their life. They're just kids."

"I know. That's why I'm asking if you'll take them as soon as Dean gets released."

"Released from what?"

Oh, he'd just walked into that one. John had no one to blame but himself. "The hospital. He's okay, he just needs to build up his fluid levels."

Bobby made a noise like he'd been punched in the stomach. "What the hell, John? He's seventeen. How does he get dehydrated?" John wasn't going to tell him. He was wondering if he could think of a plausible lie, when Bobby figured it out. "Jesus fucking Christ, the kid bled out? How the fuck did – you know what? No. I don't care how it happened. Just bring the kids here ASAP. And just think about what you're exposing them to, you idjit." Bobby then hung up on him, which he kind of expected. As brusque and short tempered as Bobby could be with him, he really seemed to really like the boys, which was good.

John wondered if his boys would ever forgive him. Maybe someday.

* * *

Three Days Later

The one constant about Bobby's place was it was always an unholy mess. It was like a twister had dumped a demolition derby in his yard. And inside it could be slightly worse, although it was more like a tornado had dropped an old book depository in there.

Dean knew Sam and Dad had been arguing again because of the tense, frosty silences between them, but Sam only said it was the "usual shit", which basically meant a pissing contest between the two of them. In that case, he was happy to be left out.

He was still weak and hurt just about all over, but he was glad to be out of the hospital. He hated them, and he hated people sticking him with needles at all hours. Also, broken ribs healed at their own rate, and there was nothing that could be done for them if they weren't willing to constantly dose him with heavy painkillers. And apparently they weren't. Dean could never have any fun.

He didn't tell anyone, mainly because he wasn't sure he wasn't having some kind of breakdown, but one night he had a dream that he would have sworn was Taraka's, not his. It was all about blood and fire and losing an argument with another demon (?). Didn't make a lot of sense. But the next afternoon he parked himself in Bobby's library, trying to see if anyone else had ever had a dream after possession that wasn't theirs. That's where Uncle Bobby found him, in his library, pouring over a book so dusty it still made him sneeze while reading it.

"If you ever wanna talk about it, you can," Bobby said.

Dean was glad he'd hidden the beer he stole under the desk. Bobby would usually look the other way if he stole a beer, but he didn't like him stealing too many. "Talk about what?"

"Getting possessed by Taraka. That's not a normal possession." He was gazing at him like he knew something. What could he know?

"I don't remember a lot about it. I think they sacrificed demons as well as humans during the ritual."

Bobby grimaced before taking a swig from his own can of beer. "Yeah. Summoning him isn't as easy reading a spell from a book."

"I'm good, really. I've actually forgotten a lot about it. It's all kind of a blur." That was sort of true. What he remembered clearly was the powerlessness, which was the worst, until Dean turned the tables. He still wasn't sure how he did that, except his Dad shooting him helped a lot. Even though it left him with a gnarly chest scar. But chicks dug scars, right?

Bobby's look was dubious, but then again, it generally was. "You know you're the only one I've ever heard of who survived it, right? He generally rips his victims apart."

"He probably meant to, but he ran out of time." Dean turned away to sneeze – did Bobby never dust? – then added, "He was kinda pathetic. I almost felt sorry for him."

Now Bobby was giving him the disbelieving stare he usually reserved for civilians who had no idea what they were talking about. "You talked to him?"

"Near the end, yeah," Dean closed the book, but shoved his chair back so he didn't get enveloped in the dust cloud. "He got overthrown in Hell. He was just another demon, and it was driving him crazy. He was afraid of dying, but in a weird way, I think he wanted it to be over. Do demons get tired of their own shit?"

Bobby kept giving him that look. Dean suspected if he was in range, Bobby might hit him with his hat. "I don't think I'm drunk enough to have a philosophical conversation, son. You're aware this is all weird, right?"

"Yeah. Why do you think I'm in here, giving myself a headache?" Dean knew he needed to stop thinking about this, but it was just so strange. It was almost like Taraka was … not a person, but almost something like it. An epically fucked up, warped person, but still.

"Peterson just brought in his 'Vette, needs a carburetor rebuild. Wanna help me?"

Dean knew he was shifting the topic, trying to keep him from thinking about it, and he was grateful. Especially since Dean loved working on cars. He could do something simple, concrete, and forget about everything else. Was that what being a regular person was like? It was kinda weird. Not terrible, though. A hell of a lot better than getting possessed or shot. "Sure. I could use some fresh air anyway."

He followed Bobby out, and when they passed by a side table near the front door, Dean noticed a small package. "What's this?" It had Dean Winchester written on it in ink. No address, no stamps.

"Oh, yeah. Just found that in the mailbox," Bobby said. "I didn't know if it your Dad left it for you or what."

"Doesn't look like his handwriting." Dean opened the small box, and found within one of Dad's anti-possession charms, and a stack of Tarot cards.

Bobby frowned. "Who'd send you Tarot cards?"

"I think these are from Jade."

"The supposed fortune teller?"

"Yeah. I guess she made it out okay." Dad was never able to find her. He even went back to her shop, only to find it had already been shut down and cleared out, which was bizarre. Dean knew he hadn't made her up, and she'd definitely been in the car with Dad and Sam.

When he handed the cards off to Bobby, he found a folded up note at the very bottom of the small box. He opened it, only to find written, in the same scratchy pen, _See you in ten years or so._

Bobby read the note over his shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"I told you she was the real deal. I guess I'm going to see her again." Dean was glad too, as she was kind of cute. Maybe by then, she'd be into younger guys.

The End


End file.
